Beauty
by with-etoiles
Summary: Blaine Anderson was blessed with the perks of being beautiful in a world where the passage of new laws literally gifted the beautiful and slighted the "ugly". Kurt Hummel was not. This is their love story.
1. Prologue

_A/N: This is just an idea I had that I've tentatively been running with for the past few weeks, so I've written about half of the story so far. I want to see if you guys like it to see if I should continue writing! So please, tell me what you think about it! :)_

Prologue

Blaine swept his eyes around the tiny room. Tiny silver pinchers, glinting in the bright light, robotically swung back and forth, picking up tiny green computer chips and inserting them into a slot in the wall. The chips landed with a soft clink, which kept his attention by that slot in the wall. In his peripheral vision he could see his father, tapping away at a projected keyboard, eyes trained sternly upwards as a series of animated faces flashed across the screen. The faces were blank, babies blinking into the very first camera they would ever see in their life. Their eyes held wonder and luminosity, but no fear. They were too young to fear what was being done to them, too young to have any reason to mistrust the world.

Around his father were other employees, each giving minimal attention to the faces that were perpetually flashing, an eternal series of trusting blinks and misplaced expectation. The room whirred quietly with the projector's exertions and the quiet shifting of the employees here in this room, one exactly like the many id-ing centers that had been installed several years ago by the government in every hospital around the globe.

People had tried to resist it of course. People tried to resist this classification of people, human beings, people with souls and bruisable feelings, into groups by appearances. They had railed against the unfairness of it all, how it degraded the essence of a human being. What were looks anyways? They were nothing but a superficial extension of a person's real self, nothing but a feeble projection of a soul. But Blaine knew it was all a spur of the moment façade. He knew what the culture leading up to the implementation of the "prejudice precepts" was like, as they had been so affectionately nicknamed by the public at large. Society was always based upon this unattainable look of "beauty"; a law really did nothing but cement the detrimental social hierarchy that had already been in place for a long while.

What was beauty, anyways? That was something Blaine thought about a lot. Growing up with his dad, who had been employed at these id-ing centers, deciding the fate of a person's life based on their mere attractiveness, made him question things. When he watched his dad idly shuffle through those faces, watched him glance over the numbers that projected the prospected height, eye color, nose size, facial symmetry, bodily symmetry, height of a person… watching him quickly match it up to the banks of information he had in his head of what was defined as "attractive" or "handsome" or "beautiful", and then proceed to put this person or that person in this group or that group, decided if they were to be in the top level, the "comelies", and receive extra income and benefits, or if they were to be in the bottom group, the "unsightlies" as they were called, and therefore put them in a slighted position their entire life (financially and psychologically), sickened him. He was a "comely"; he had enough money to go to private school his entire life and wear clothes that verged on ridiculously expensive and have yes men friends. But he hated it; he was dragged kicking and screaming the entire way as he was made to live the life of a beautiful person.

And so he stood there in that small room, looking at the familiar machinery and remembering what he had thought when he was first brought here, a few months after he had been born and was classified as a "comely".

"_Id room," his father began. "This is the Id room. Blaine. My shift ends in a few minutes, but I just wanted to give you a sneak peek of your future occupation."_

_The Id room had been…. suffocating, to put it lightly. Blaine felt like he needed air as soon as he was brought in._

_His father had placed him in a chair nearby him. The other people in the room didn't bat an eye as Blaine had entered._

_When his father had down in his own chair, something had seemed to click, and then the projections in his area of the room whizzed to life._

_Blaine gaped._

"_You know of this system, think. This is where we decide which group you fall under, "comely" or "unsightly" or somewhere in between. Do you know what group you're in, Blaine?"_

_He simply stared on at him, his hazel eyes unblinking and pure._

"_Comely. Which means you're privileged, Blaine. You're special."_

_He smiled at his father. _

_His father smiled lazily back, and then turned to the rushing blinking faces on the screen in front of him. He was muttering softly to himself, looking at the numbers for a second or two before typing a combination of letters; there were always two different combinations, but they were the only two. _

_His father had done this process several times in a matter of minutes, and Blaine had stared on, trying to understand what exactly being a "comely" meant. Why were they sorting people into groups?_

_All of a sudden a beautiful face appeared on screen. His eyes were so astonishingly blue; they had him by surprise. For the few seconds this person's eyes, 'Kurt's' Blaine amended in his head as his eyes darted above the face to the information, were on the screen, he gazed steadily back. Making eye contact with this 'Kurt' made butterflies raise in his stomach. It was such a sickly sweet feeling. _

_And then they were gone. His father had tapped in a series of letters, and for a brief moment Kurt was reciprocating his eye contact, and then Kurt was gone and the next person was on the screen. Sam. A few seconds and he was gone. Sebastian. A few moments of breathing and he was gone too. Artie. Hundreds of faces flashed by, but Kurt's blue eyes remained in his mind._

Blaine had later found out that his father hadn't entered the most favorable combination of letters in for Kurt.

* * *

"Koinophilia_,_" Blaine had said, drawing his stature up. 17 years of experience with dealing with his father told him to stand his ground, even if he felt like collapsing inside. "Averageness. It's what people find most attractive."

His dad had been shaking his head softly in the background, tapping his fingers on the dinner table. "Blaine, we've been over this."

"No. We've talked about it and you've disregarded everything I've said."

His dad sighed and gave an indifferent hand gesture telling Blaine he could go on.

He took a deep breath. "You know what I'm saying is true. You match up people's faces and what their faces should look like everyday with whatever we as a culture define as something aesthetically pleasing."

His father shifted impatiently.

"You have all these preset standards that you're given to determine it. Sexual dimorphism, symmetry, genetics, youth, waist to chest ratio, height, skin color… those are all things you have to consider when you decide to make or break a person's spirit."

"Why do you care so much about this, Blaine? You're at the top; you have absolutely nothing to worry about."

"What about the people that aren't at the top? What about them? They don't have a voice! They don't have a chance! Not as much as I do."

"And you deserve that chance," his father answered.

"_No._ Someone out there deserves this a lot more than I do."

"This doesn't change things, Blaine."

"But what if we _could_ change things?"

"You're not getting out of this Blaine."

"Why? I don't want this for my life."

"But this is what you were given."

"But I don't fit in here, this can't be right."

"It is right and always has been," his father reprimanded. "You're a comely. You're always going to be a comely. And you're going to like it."

His father walked away. Blaine could feel the click of his shoes reverberate through his body. He collapsed on the floor.

A 17 year old Kurt Hummel jumped out from behind a grand old clock located near the scene of the confrontation in the Anderson household and quietly made his way toward Blaine.

"It's okay, baby, Shhh, it's okay. We'll make it through this." He gently rubbed Blaine's back.

"No it won't, Kurt, _no it won't_! I can't do this. I've played along with him this entire time. He can't know."

"Your world is not going to end Blaine. We can make it through this."

"I can't lose the rest of my family, Kurt. My mother acts like she cares but I know she's alienated by me, my brother hates me, my dad is not so fond of me either but he's still there. He's all I have left of my family."

Kurt didn't know what to say, so he simply placed his pinky under Blaine's chin and tilted it up.

"Shh," he whispered. "Even if your family leaves, I'll always be here for you."

He softly pressed his lips to Blaine's.

"They'll never find out. Everyone thinks you're part of their class. And you are. You've been raised as that. They'll never see your real records. They'll never see how your dad messed them up that day in that stifling little room; your dad doesn't even know he messed them up! You're still a comely to everyone, and no one will know the wiser."

Blaine smiled weakly.

"Even if they find out, it won't be that bad. Trust me, I've lived through that traumatic experience. You've missed the worst of it. There's nothing to fear after you've finished school."

"Really?" Blaine asked.

"I promise. The worst that could happen is you having to live without your $3000 designer coats." He played absently with a loose curl from Blaine's hair.

"Many of which I've lent to you," Blaine reminded him. Kurt laughed.

"Whatever happens, I'll be here, okay?"

"Okay," Blaine repeated. "Thanks, Kurt."

"It'll all be okay, I promise." He pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I promise."

* * *

Blaine Anderson had never taken Kurt Hummel to be a liar.


	2. Chapter 1

_A/N: There will be 10 chapters and an epilogue! :)_

Chapter 1

The first time Blaine met Kurt was on a Tuesday.

He had been forging his way through the streets, lively chatter from work bound adults and free children allowing him to stay enveloped in his thoughts. There was the ringing of a bell in the distance, someone attempting to quiet their child, a worker in an upscale coffee shop throwing a fit, tiny cars zooming through, wind rushing at him, all the normal smells and sounds and sights of a typical day. Typical, if it could even be called typical. Everything about it had been so distinctly abnormal that calling it typical was an insult of catastrophic proportions.

Of course, it had seemed like a typical day to him at the time.

"If he relays back with financial concerns, I'll show him the pay for this job, and if he's still not convinced, I'll do some more research…" He thought. He could imagine his dad's response to his impending query. "Preposterous, Blaine, I don't want to risk this position. We've got solid income, how could we want more?"

"If he relays back with a comment about how he enjoys the job, I'll have to make sure not to lose my head," he thought again. A solid thump interrupted his thoughts; another comely had bumped into him. She was wearing a pale blue cardigan, obviously a type of expensive cashmere, with sleeves that stopped at her elbows. Underneath the slipover was a knee length pale green dress, tiny white hearts adorning the modest neckline and hem. White polka dotted open toed platform shoes with a matching color of pale green bows attached to the side were her choice of footwear. Her face was hard but lovely, with indulgent blond curls falling just beyond her collarbone. Her green eyes stared coldly back at Blaine, a total detachment from her soft attire.

"Watch where you're going," she said in a nasally sort of voice. Blaine wondered if she did that on purpose or not.

After a moment of almost glaring him down (but he thought he could see a slight unstiffening in the gaze after a few moments), she strolled away, her heels clicking on the cement sidewalk. The girl looked familiar; Blaine might've seen her at a party he had been forced to attend or just around town.

He didn't have much time to think about that encounter though, because he had to get back to the task at hand. Figuring out how to broach the topic of switching jobs with his dad. He knew his dad meant the best in working in the id-ing rooms in the hospital, but they made Blaine sick. The entire concept made him want to hurl. And he really couldn't bear to have his father participate in such a ludicrous and cruel environment or institution. He really didn't know how his dad could even stand it; he'd go insane within a week. But then again, him and his dad were no two similar people. The differences between them, especially for two people who shared blood, were astounding.

A few feet from him, a curious boy was attempting to push his way through the crowd. People were walking right past him like he was a specter; they felt the collision from his body and looked down peculiarly, as if he had materialized beneath them. Blaine didn't understand how the boy could be so invisible, because from what he could see of him, he was gorgeous. His lean profile was bent as he marched through the crowd, a gray knitted cardigan with a tied sash gracing his shoulders. He turned around, and Blaine could see a t-shirt with a printed pair of eyes underneath the cardigan. He was wearing a pair of blue and white trousers, mainly a cobalt shade of blue with printed white details, such as small polka dots and larger diamonds. His shoes were stylish black combat boots.

But Blaine had noticed all that later, because the only thing his mind could latch onto in that moment was the boy's eyes. Wide and a little sardonic, a startling shade of blue caught Blaine's gaze.

"_Do you remember a 'Kurt'?" _

_Blaine's father shot a quizzical look down at his five year old._

"_Is he one of your friends at school, Blaine?"_

"_No. I… uh… do you remember when you brought me to the id room when I was little?"_

_He nodded. _

"_This is weird, but… I remember seeing a 'Kurt' on your screen when you were sorting people."_

"_I don't remember, sorry." He didn't look sorry at all._

"_He had blue eyes… light skin…"_

"_Your point, Blaine?"_

"_What was he sorted into?"_

_Blaine's father sat thinking for a few moments, trying to recall a Kurt._

"_I remember now. Kurt Hummel." His father paused for a few moments in which Blaine's heart beat entirely too fast. "He became an unsightly."_

"_Unsightly," Blaine repeated. _

"_Yes," his father confirmed. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be off to finish some paperwork."_

_Blaine's mother peeked in as his father walked off, a look of worry on her face._

"_It's nice that you remember this 'Kurt', Blaine dear. Don't worry, I'm sure he's off to a fine start in life, even despite his being an unsightly."_

_Blaine just nodded numbly._

They held gazes for a moment's length, and then the boy shook his head and resumed his struggle of getting through the crowd.

Blaine knew it was wrong. Kurt Hummel was an "unsightly"; their worlds couldn't mesh. It would be a disaster. Everything in him told his feet to keep moving towards the hospital. Even if they couldn't do that, he should be following that blonde comely girl or going out with friends or spending his voluminous amounts of money, or anything, really, but following this 'Kurt Hummel'. He was definitely going to regret this.

He turned in the general direction of Kurt and ran.

He was pushing his way through the crowd, hopping frantically and quite comically to try to see above people's heads, forcing his body weight through the mass of people. They were really were just a mass, a seamless, hulking simplification of a thing. These people were not who human beings were; human beings didn't classify each other like this. They didn't let people like Kurt Hummel pass among them without giving him a second look, or if they did, only to mock or injure him.

That was undeniably wrong.

That thought kept him rushing through the crowds with a crazed vigor, not watching as he winded through an endless maze of souls to find this other potential kindred soul.

Soon, he found the crowd thinning, and Kurt was still walking, although with his back impossibly straight. Blaine could see through the façade: beneath his brave front, he was scared. Only pride was keeping him from acting on it. They were nearing a vacant park, and Kurt started to look nervously from side to side, sensing how alone they really were right now. He inhaled deeply and turned around.

"If you're here to beat me up," he yelled defiantly at Blaine, his eyes undermining his affronting tone, "you might as well do it now. Perfect location, nobody's around… go ahead. That way I can get back to my cursed life and you can get back to your blessed one. Do it."

Blaine stepped forward. "I don't want to hurt you, Ku- I don't want to hurt you." Kurt hadn't seemed to have noticed Blaine prematurely knowing his name. "I just thought you looked familiar, and I wanted to see if you were indeed familiar to me."

Kurt stared dolefully at him, just a hint of condemnatory nature stirring behind his pupils.

"I'm different. I look different. There's no way you could have recognized me."

"Which I now realize. You're not familiar to me, by the way."

Kurt continued to stare judgingly at him.

"That's your hint to introduce yourself," Blaine added a few moments later. Kurt let out a spiteful laugh and closed the distance between them.

"Kurt Hummel," he said, conspicuously eyeing Blaine up and down.

Blaine shook off the feeling of self-consciousness and held out a hand.

"Blaine Anderson. Nice to meet you."

"Comely?" Kurt asked nonchalantly, shaking it. "You certainly dress like one."

He shifted uncomfortably but answered with a confident voice. "I am. You are?"

"Unsightly," Kurt answered. He was obviously waiting for some type of reaction from Blaine; Blaine kept his face schooled.

Kurt laughed again, high and, despite its vicious intent, strangely tender.

"Could I ask you something?" he asked quickly, his voice suddenly soft. His gaze seared into Blaine.

"Why did you follow me here? It's not because you recognized me, because you would've seen my face and realized I wasn't who you thought I was and left by now. There's another reason you're here."

He swallowed nervously and Kurt noticed, moving closer, fostering a closer sense of intimacy between them. "After I realized that you weren't who I thought you are, I stayed because… you seemed different."

"Different?" Kurt looked interestedly on at Blaine. "Different with which connotation?"

"A good different." He nodded vigorously to justify. "I'm a comely, yes, but I'm also unbelievably tired of everyone being exactly the same. Living the life of a beautiful person is not as glamorous as it seems. Truth be told, I was feeling so fed up with the same routine every day. But then I saw you, and you're _different_. And I needed something different in my life."

Kurt didn't respond for a few short moments. Blaine didn't think he looked uncomfortable, just merely… taken off guard. "Slow down, Romeo," he finally responded, scoffing, but his voice was almost endearing. He pointed a finger at his chest. "Unsightly." He turned that finger towards Blaine. "Comely. We don't go together."

"Ah, but what is life without a few risks? Life cannot move along without a few."

"So you're a romantic and a poet? I'm building a pretty lofty standard of you in my mind right now, you better watch out. You'll never be able to match it."

Blaine laughed. He pulled out his phone and held it towards Kurt. "Swap numbers?"

Kurt spent a good few seconds gaping at the phone.

"Uh sure, but when I pull out my phone you're probably going to have a laughing fit."

Blaine smiled encouragingly at him. Kurt still looked nervous but pulled it out of his pocket anyways.

Blaine had to suppress a laugh, seeing as Kurt was watching him vigilantly to catch any outbreak of a smile. His phone was an ancient vestige of long outdated technology; Blaine wasn't even sure how he had gotten something as old as that. Surely, by now, it was considered a precious artifact?

"Wipe that smirk off your face Anderson and just put in your number," Kurt warned him playfully.

He mock saluted. "Will do, Hummel." Carefully tending to the device, he punched in his number. The thing looked like it could fall apart any time; he didn't want to be the one to break it. Across from him Kurt was entering his number, seeming to have no trouble navigating the technology.

There was a moment of awkward silence as they swapped each other's phones back but stood rooted to their spots. Blaine didn't want to leave, and it didn't seem like Kurt wanted to either. Something palpable floated in the air, but the moment passed quickly. Soon they were off on their merry ways. Blaine glanced behind him to watch Kurt walk away.

"It's a good Tuesday," he thought absentmindedly, and when he began back towards the crowd he found himself walking towards his house instead, completely forgetting his intentions of going to the hospital.

* * *

When he walked into his house and shrugged off his light jacket, a bright smile illuminating his face, his mother was sitting at the kitchen table, doing a crossword on a digital tablet. She looked up for a second, the corners of her mouths curling just marginally upwards at her son's smile. She didn't see that genuine smile enough.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Kurt!"

Kurt turned around to see Sam jogging up to him in the hallways of McKinley High School.

"Dude, wanna hear my 'Dwayne the Rock Johnson' impression? Him in his acting roles? I've totally got this down."

"The Rock, huh? Pretty intense stuff, I don't know if I'll be able to handle it."

"It's easy, all you gotta do is assume a very macho position, subtly emphasize your ginormous arm muslces, and play a very confident and somewhat arrogant character."

Sam proceeded to straighten, flex his arms, and spread his feet apart. He assumed a mocking posing of the face, as if he were looking towards a camera in the distance.

Kurt was laughing, subconsciously leaning closer to Sam, and Sam was laughing too, completely comfortable around Kurt. There was a time when Kurt had a crush on Sam, and Sam tolerated it, but he never reciprocated feelings. Just toleration. Reciprocated feelings never really happened for him.

Suddenly he felt rough pressure on his arm, and then it was in the air. He whirled around, almost colliding into Azimio as he smirked, despicably smug, at him. He was by his side yelling out to the entire hallway, "And give it up for the homo on _fire_!", and then, quick as if he never existed, shoved into a locker and discarded, Azimio walking on disinterestedly. Sam looked on at Azimio disgusted, but made no attempts to pick a losing fight.

"Hey, man, I'm sorry! They're idiots; you know that."

"Yeah I know, Sam." He stayed curled up, his legs drawn to his chest, on the ground by the lockers. "Go on without me, okay? I still have to get some stuff out of my locker."

"Okay," Sam said slowly, making only small movements to leave. "Um… see you in glee, okay?"

"Okay."

Sam walked away, looking back a few times before something like pity finally clouded his eyes, and he left.

Kurt bristled and carefully wiped his long green-grey trench coat, standing up and taking care not to give any indication that lockers were metal and thus painful, and that his back was flesh and thus easily pained. He looked around the hallway, watching the students stream past as if nothing had happened. They supported the people that were doing this to him, usually the comelies who had chosen to stay in public school or the brasher "standards". It was despicable.

"Who gave them the right to do that?" he thought indignantly. "What Neanderthal made that brilliant decision?"

He supposed he shouldn't think of "God" like that. Or the higher being up in the skies. The mystical force that ties all things together. The "greater entity". Whichever phrase floated your boat; they were all the same thing to him. Something was up there, or maybe nothing was up there and this was all purely orderly chaos, but the shots were being called, and his set of shots happened to be tremendously unfortunate.

He had thought that being typecast as ugly at birth was enough to fill his quota of bad luck for life, but apparently he was wrong. He didn't mind the classification so much: being an unsightly was not that bad if you looked at it the right way. What he minded was his classification within the classification. People in this class were brutal. He was inherently put at the bottom of the stack because of some set of stupid numbers that someone in a place of power had come up with, probably after they had just snorted marijuana or gotten themselves dangerously drunk, because to be in a situation where you would willingly put superficiality above morality and have millions of people stand behind that faulty reasoning… that's when you knew it was bad. And here he was, a victim of their unattainable standards, being shoved into lockers and jeered at in the halls every day, having to fight past the nasty rumours that were spread about him to simply have a friend, and having to forever assure himself that someone someday would want him for more than just a convenient punching bag for their own frustrations. Maybe someday someone could actually want him, as a partner or a lover or _su amor_. But that day was a long ways away, and the most he could do for now was hope that the fantastical being in the sky would take pity on him, and that maybe he would get a chance to start living his life.

He hadn't known it at the time, but a certain slick-haired comely was going to give him that chance.

* * *

The first time Kurt Hummel met Blaine Anderson, he hadn't made much of it. Sure, he had, by some bizarre twist of fate, befriended a comely. An agreeable comely. A _different_ comely. Blaine was mannered where the others were brutal, he was kind where the others were presumptuous, he was carefree where the others always seemed to be so uptight. Caught in the moment, Kurt had been captivated. He could feel his spine relax once they got to talking, he could feel the blush threatening to rosen his pale cheeks, he anticipated all the embarrassingly tell-tale signs that he liked someone bubbling up inside him and blooming on him, body reacting and mind flurrying. But he simply dismissed it once Blaine was out of sight. Out of sight, out of mind, right? It had only been one encounter. He returned home that day, exiling the warmth budding in his chest to the corner of his heart where he expounded reality, and tried his best to look at this practically. It was a hopeless case; he should not try to pursue it. The most he could let himself indulge in were fantasies. That was all.

He went to bed that night and dreamt of Blaine, Blaine's gorgeous green-brown eyes taking the spotlight.

* * *

He awoke to a harsh glare illuminating his room. Rolling out of bed, he walked straight past the source of the glare to the bathroom, first splashing water on his face and taking care of morning hygiene. After feeling content with his breath and styling his hair into his usual high swoop, he walked back into his room, finding the source of the glare to be his phone. Bottle of hairspray in hand, he casually picked it up and almost immediately dropped it.

_Blaine Anderson: Hey, Kurt! This is probably way too soon to text your friend that you only just briefly met yesterday, but considering that I'm in adept at following social protocol, all should make sense. Either way, I was wondering, do you like coffee? I go to this coffee place, "The Lima Bean", all the time before school and I figured you'd like it. Shoot me a text if you want to come! Or just look for me there!_

A coffee date with Blaine Anderson was not something Kurt was willing to pass up, no matter how much he had insisted on confining his crush to the precincts of his mind. He smiled to himself, laughing a little bit at how quickly his resolve had unraveled. Kurt had even been to the Lima Bean before, a couple times before with his dad. The coffee there was divine, and the boy he was going to be there with even more so.

_Kurt Hummel: Meet ya there!_

Twirling his phone in his hand and humming "Sing a Song of Sixpence", he headed to his closet to properly dress up for the event. He wasn't sure why that old nursery rhyme had popped into his head at that particular moment, but he felt as if it had a strange sort of relevance.

_Sing a song of sixpence,_

_A pocket full of rye._

_Four and twenty blackbirds,_

_Baked in a pie._

_When the pie was opened,_

_The birds began to sing;_

_Wasn't that a dainty dish,_

_To set before the king?_

_The king was in his counting house,_

_Counting out his money;_

_The queen was in the parlour,_

_Eating bread and honey._

_The maid was in the garden,_

_Hanging out the clothes;_

_When down came a blackbird_

_And pecked off her nose._

Kurt felt as if there had to be another happier verse after that, something to alleviate the inevitably sad ending.

* * *

He came into the kitchen humming, preparing his breakfast entirely too cheerily for the morning.

"What's up, kid?" his dad asked, smiling at the sight of his son practically doing pirouettes as he danced around. He stopped pirouetting and turned to face Burt. "One Mr. Kurt Hummel has got himself a date!" he sang.

"_This_ morning?" Burt asked bemusedly.

"Yes, father, and I have prepared a special ensemble for the occasion. You like?"

"You know how I am about fashion," he responded wearily, as if this were a point he had reiterated thousands of times, laughing to himself.

"Right. Well, I like it. And I hope Blaine'll like it too."

"Blaine?"

"Mhmm," he sang again. "Blaine. We're going to the Lima Bean this morning!"

"You're drinking coffee before school? Is this really a date, Kurt?" He raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

"Ah, just let me enjoy this," he retorted immediately, his tone clearly playful.

"Alright, kiddo, I'll let you go enjoy your," Burt made air quotes, "'date'."

"Thanks; see you later dad! Love you!"

"No problem kid, love you too."

Kurt skipped all the way out.


	4. Chapter 3

_A/N: I admit that the last couple of chapters have been a little slow, but big stuff starts happening very soon! Bear with me!_

Chapter 3

Blaine was starting to think that maybe he should've dressed nicer to meet Kurt. His Dalton blazer was so _bland_; Kurt would never like bland. Kurt's dress, off a moment's meeting, didn't seem to just be done for show. While there was resilient flamboyance there, it almost felt as if, beneath the vibrant colors and funky fabrics, there was a spirit of combat there. Kurt Hummel wasn't going down without a fight, his clothes proclaimed.

"Someone's chipper for a 5:00 wake up call," a voice floated through his thoughts. "Kurt," he thought, his head perking up.

"Kurt, I'm glad you could make it!"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Kurt responded, easily sliding into a seat besides Blaine. He looked absolutely stunning today, wearing a dark green tee with a bright yellow collar, grey skinny jeans (that were _tight_), a beige short trench jacket that cropped around the middle of the torso, and brown boots. "What are we ordering today?"

"No worries, I got you covered," he said in a tacky accent, and then immediately cringed. Kurt noticed and laughed, giving no indication of judgment.

A woman came over with their coffees, giving them a laidback smile and setting the coffee on the table.

"I got you a grande non fat mocha," he started nervously. "I wasn't sure if you would like it, but-"

"Shut up," Kurt immediately interrupted. "I love this! I don't get to come here often, really not much at all-about two or three times a year- but this is my coffee order! How did you know?"

"I didn't," he responded, feeling himself relaxing and his hand, which had been tapping at his leg, building lethargy. "I'm glad you like it, really."

"What do you usually get?" Kurt asked over a sip of his coffee.

"Umm, medium drip." He nervously grabbed for his cup.

"I'll have to remember that," Kurt laughed. "God, this coffee is fantastic. Really, thanks for this, Blaine."

"Remember it? Planning to surprise me with coffee every now and then?"

Kurt's musical laugh was the only answer.

"I love how quaint this entire place feels. I've never been here with a friend either; it gives it a whole 'nother feel."

"Oh, the wonders of coffee," he said thoughtfully. "Coffee shops can be magical places, you know." He nodded affirmatively.

"Is that so?" Kurt asked, a quirk of the eyebrow to match.

"Indeed," Blaine answered. "Everyone's always exalting the big things: the birthdays, the graduations. I do that all the time, and I enjoy doing that most of the time too. But sometimes it's just a little thing that sets off a spark. I personally miss those way too often. I'm always too busy with these big things to notice the quieter side of life. It can be just as beautiful."

"That had nothing to do with coffee shops," Kurt deadpanned.

Kurt held Blaine's gaze furtively for a few seconds before they mutually burst into laughter.

"This coffee shop acts as my haven," Blaine continued after the laughter subsided. "It's quiet and _quaint_, as you put it, and I can always come here to think, you know."

"You invited me into your thinking space?" Kurt asked, voice high with what seemed to be wonder. Blaine saw a seed of something beautiful and trusting bloom behind his features. It made Blaine's stomach flip. "Such a juvenile feeling," he thought distractedly to himself.

"Like I said, I figured you'd like it too."

"Thank you again," Kurt emphasized kindly. "I wish I could visit this place more."

Blaine was about to answer, but a snippet of song burst from his phone.

"Chopin's Nocturne, op 9, number 3?" Kurt asked appreciatively.

"How did you know that?"

"My friend, Rachel, recently revealed to me that she had a period in which she only listened to classical music. She said it was in order to better immerse herself in all types of musical culture, even though she's zealous about getting herself to Broadway and making a star out of herself, _not_ Carnegie Hall. She referenced Barbra's album of classics as evidence that she needed to 'fully enwrap herself within this new exotic world and embrace it like her unstoppable blazing stardom', her words. Needless to say, I was present during this period. That was her favorite of Chopin's pieces."

"It's my favorite too," Kurt added shortly after.

"Broadway," Blaine said dreamily. "That's why I like it so much. Something about it reminds me of Broadway."

"You like Broadway too?" Kurt started, almost jumping out of his seat. "Contrary to popular belief, it is _not_ a dying art form, quite the opposite, I'd like to think! The lights, the performance value, the crowds, the energy, I couldn't imagine anything more thrilling! There's just something about-"

"You have to be going somewhere, don't you?" Kurt interrupted himself.

"No," Blaine answered, shifting guiltily.

"It's okay, your phone rang for a reason. I'm guessing it was a reminder for something. You probably have to get to school soon, right?"

Blaine shifted, eventually laying some money on the table and standing to leave.

"I go to school at Dalton, so I have to leave early to drive there. But we will have to continue this conversation soon!"

"Of course," Kurt answered, smiling encouragingly up at him.

Blaine walked out, forcing himself not to look back at Kurt until he was safely behind the wheel of his car. Meticulously opening the car door and lowering himself into the seat, he carefully trained his eyes on his hands as he turned on the ignition. Finally, after adjusting the mirrors and looking down at his lap for a few brief seconds, he willed himself look up. He found Kurt's face in the shop, rested on his hands as he stared out into the distance. He suddenly grabbed for his coffee, and noticed something about the money Blaine had left on the table. He leafed through it, glancing up at the prices every now and then. Looking reluctant for a moment, he eventually eased back into his chair with a small shake of the head.

Blaine had been hoping he would notice the extra money left for his drink.

* * *

Much to Blaine's joy, these coffee meetings became a regular thing. As the months passed, they began to make a game of it, telling each other that it would be their goal to learn at least one new thing about each other at every meeting, and if they failed to do so in the 30 minutes or so they had at the coffee shop, they would be bound to text each other a piece of due information before the end of the day, or else, at the next meeting, the other had the right to ask one question which could not be refused.

Through these meetings Blaine had learnt of Kurt's dream to be on Broadway, of his love for Lady Gaga, his fascination with Vogue (he had a corner of his room where he pasted his favorite fashions from the issues onto his wall, he called it his "inspiration corner"), the hair product he used, his fanatic appreciation of Kate Middleton, his obsession with keys ("I love the idea of being able to unlock something," he had said wistfully. "It's impossible to avoid locking things up in this world, whether they be emotionally or physically. It's just not possible to be that damn open, you know? But the best things in life _are_ the locked up ones, and they're not easy to get to, but they're worth it."), his favorite color ("Green," he had answered quickly, and Blaine had thought to have seen a bit of a blush weave through his cheeks.), and his secret preference for politics.

In turn, Blaine had opened up to Kurt in a way he had never really done before. He never felt the air of self-consciousness around Kurt, and even though Kurt was open with his judging looks and retorts, it never felt like he was genuinely mocking him. He told Kurt about his dreams to travel, how he had always wanted a puppy, of his peculiar affinity to bowties, that his favorite book was the Wonderful Wizard of Oz ("Sometimes escaping is a good thing," Blaine had started. "And it creates problems for you, like her killing the Wicked Witch of the East and upsetting the Wicked Witch of the West, but Dorothy doesn't run away from them. She ran away from her problems before, but she's not doing that now. And somehow, her bravery trudging through this new foreign land got her back home. And the best part was, she could go back anytime, she just needed to hone her strength before she did." This had started a particularly long tangent on the Wizard of Oz and Wicked that had spanned the length of the coffee meeting and texting most of the day.), how he secretly didn't despise math (Kurt had scoffed), of his dream when he was little to perform at Carnegie Hall ("What made you switch from wanting to perform with instruments to performing vocally?" Kurt had asked. "When I'm singing it's much easier to be a bigger and better personality than I am than when I'm playing the piano," he had answered.), of his shameless top 40 loving soul, and that, underneath the glamour of top 40, he really loved old music too (Roxy music, Duran Duran, disco, the like).

Blaine found himself waking up every morning look forward to these coffee meetings, using them as a coping mechanism with the rest of his life. He wondered with increasing frequency now what life would've been like if his father never fixed his status here. Would he have ended up like Kurt? Fierce, brilliant, and strong? He knew Kurt had a better future ahead of him than he did. Kurt had dreams of having it all, and Blaine had it all. Yet he still spent nights wondering what it would be like, really, truly holding happiness.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Your knight in shining armor has yet to arrive to the scene?" Kurt heard a high voice behind him ask. Turning around, he was greeted with a groggy Rachel Berry, sporting a knee length dress of a rough fabric with alternating orange and white stripes and an outlined collar in light blue. It was typical Rachel, trying to be fashionable, and picking pieces that would normally not be such a fashion faux paux, but wearing them all the wrong way.

"Forgive my lack of attentiveness today, I skipped my scrupulous morning workout routine to come talk to you," she told Kurt as she slid out a chair, flipping her hair back over her shoulder and stifling a yawn.

"Why are you here?" he asked, a little annoyed. He was mostly trying to mask his concern; Blaine hadn't showed up yet, and it was almost 20 minutes after their designated meet up time.

"To see who this mysterious and apparently _undeniably charming_ Blaine Anderson is," she answered conspiratorially. "Where's your prince, anyways?" She looked around, looking as if she expected to see Taylor Lautner himself walk through the door of this lowly Ohioan coffee shop.

"I wouldn't have told you about him, Rachel, if I had known you were going to crash one of our meetings." He spoke while continually sweeping his eyes around the shop, forever hoping to see those horribly slicked down curls and that idiotic smile.

Rachel leaned forward and smiled slyly. "Dates, Kurt. _Dates_."

"Are you buying anything?" he redirected quickly.

"No, don't have the money to spare," she said, longingly staring at the people entering and exiting quickly with their prized confections and beverages. "How are you affording to come here every day? What with the exorbitant amount of money you spend on clothes-"

"-Style is very important to me, and besides, I find all my clothes on sale!"

"-that you know we don't have?"

Kurt sighed. "I hate this."

"That Blaine isn't here?"

"Well, yes, but this whole thing in general. I hate being an unsightly, and I hate that someone just decided that I should be without my consent, or even a legitimate freaking reason!"

"There's nothing we can do about it now, Kurt. Just wait, soon we'll both be on Broadway, and all of this will be a fond memory." She went to grab Kurt's hand, and he accepted it.

With a gentle squeeze to her hand, he fired back. "But I don't want to wait! I want to do something about it now!"

"I know, Kurt, I know," she reassured him, standing up to pull him into a hug.

After breaking apart, she cleared her throat loudly. "We've got to be getting to school now. I, uh…I'm sorry."

"No, it's alright," he answered, only a little bit of dejection being betrayed in his voice. "I just hope he's okay."

"Walk with me," she piped up, linking her arm in his. "We can sing the _Sound Of Music_ soundtrack all the way to school."

"You always know the right thing to do, Miss Rachel Berry." He laughed, holding open the door and entering the brisk morning air, pushing away the feeling stirring in his stomach and focusing on instead on the opening strains of Do-Re-Mi.

"_Doe, a deer, a female deer, Ray, a drop of golden sun!"_

* * *

Kurt had to force himself throughout all his classes to keep the phone in his backpack, lest he pull it out and text Blaine to make sure he was okay. Blaine was absolutely fine, he probably just overslept. Or forgot his phone and had to go back for it. Or crashed on his way towards the Lima Bean and was sitting in a hospital right now and Kurt was sitting in Spanish…

_Focus, Kurt. Español. Blaine esta en su escuela. Él esta hablando a un lección, como tu. __Relájate, Kurt. Relájate._

* * *

When the last bell of the day finally rang, Kurt almost surprised himself with how eager he was to text Blaine.

_Kurt: Well, someone wasn't at the Lima Bean today! You best be careful, we're heading into mandatory question territory if you don't answer back soon!_

When he hadn't answered back a few hours later, Kurt sent him another text.

_Kurt: Well, if you didn't like me, you could've just told me instead of blowing off our morning meeting! Jk! You know you love me ;)_

Another hour later and still no response.

_Kurt: Alright, apparently not._

A few more hours passed by.

_Kurt: Blaine, are you alright?_

30 minutes.

_Kurt: Blaine?_

_Kurt: I'm kind of worried now._

_Kurt: Blaine?_

* * *

_Blaine woke up, Chopin's Nocturne, op 9, number 3 gently luring him from sleep. He rolled out of bed, groggily reaching for his phone. It said it was 5:30. _

"Shit."_ Kurt had been at the Lima Bean for half an hour already, and Blaine hadn't shown up. _"Shit."

_He danced around his room, jumping into beige trousers, pulling a crisp white dress shirt over his chest, shrugging into his Dalton blazer, and throwing on his tie. Rushing downstairs, he pulled on black socks, grabbed his bag, and slipped into dress shoes. _

"_Going to the Lima Bean," he called out to his mother, who was eating waffles at the island in the kitchen. _

"_Why don't you stay and eat with me, dear?"_

_Blaine sighed, and moved to press a kiss to her forehead. "I would love to, but I'm meeting someone at the Lima Bean and I'm going to be late."_

"_But honey, I want us to be more of a family. Can't you just give your friend a rain check?"_

_He shook his head impatiently. "I'm sorry; I just really need to get going."_

_He was almost out the door when his mother said it._

"_Blainey, dear, I feel like you're polarizing the family."_

_He slowly turned around. "What?"_

"_You've seen how upset your father has been recently," she continued, chewing at her waffles nonchalantly. "I love you, and I understand that you probably like this person that you meet everyday at the Lima Bean, and I want you to be happy, trust me, but… our family unit has been broken. I just want to fix it."_

"_How is that my fault?" Blaine asked angrily. _

"_You're always bringing up your father's work nowadays, and the 'inherent unfairness of comelies and unsightlies and the whole system'. It stresses him," she said simply._

"_That's because it _is_ unfair," he retorted. "It's ridiculous how unfair it is, and he's in a position that's only perpetuating this nasty cycle!"_

"_You know that's not his fault."_

"_Of _course_ it is! He could choose any other job, you know. He's not being forced to work at the hospital in those stupid id-ing rooms!"_

_His mother shifted uncomfortably. "He doesn't really have as much as a choice as you make him out to have."_

"_He does. There's always more than one choice."_

"_But you don't know the choices," she added quietly._

"_I just know that I want him to realize this isn't right."_

"_He does."_

"_How can you know?"_

"_Just believe me when I say he doesn't have a choice."_

"_But there's always a choice," Blaine repeated weakly._

"_I know, dear. I know. Some are just more attractive than others."_

_Blaine was quiet._

"_Is this person you meet at the Lima Bean an unsightly?" his mother asked after a couple of moments._

_Blaine opened his mouth to answer, but instead he found himself fleeing the situation. He didn't know why he didn't want to tell his mother that Kurt was an unsightly, and that he was one of the most wonderful people he had met in spite of and because of it, but there was a swirling feeling settling in his stomach, and all he wanted to do was get out of there. So he did. He grabbed his car keys and ran to his car, trying to quiet his stomach. Driving around aimlessly, he killed time until school started. And then he drove straight to Dalton._

_When he got home from school, he continued to run. He ran up to his room and turned off his phone for the day, instead choosing to distract himself by finishing his homework, and when that supply ran out, watching movies on his laptop. He went through around 4 until it was finally midnight._

_He still didn't know why that confrontation in the morning upset him so much, but he chose to ignore it for the time being. The churning feeling didn't go away until he lapsed into a fitful sleep._


	6. Chapter 5

_A/N: I'm sorry that my posting has been erratic for the past couple chapters! It's been the week of my birthday and we've been at Disney for the past couple of days in celebration. :) Anyways, this is a big chapter, and I'm excited to post it! I hope you all enjoy it!_

Chapter 5

"Rachel! Oh my god; what are you doing here?"

"I just couldn't resist," she winked. "He's not gonna bail on you a second time, and I want to be here to see him."

"Rachel, oh my god, _get out of here!_" Kurt was up and out of his seat in a minute, frantically trying to hide Rachel. "Uh, hide behind that giant coffee cup replica! Um no, too obvious, go talk to those strangers over there! Oh no, wait, they'd end up throwing their drinks at you. Um, just go to the bathroom or something! _And don't sing on your way there!_"

"Why not?" she mock pouted. "These frequenters look like they could use a little Barbra Streisand in their life."

"Just _go._ I'll tell you all about it at school, I promise."

"Oh, alright," she conceded, smiling mischievously the entire way out of the shop.

"I mean it Rachel Berry!" he yelled behind her. She just turned around and gave him a jaunty thumbs up.

"What am I going to do with her?" he muttered quietly to himself, shaking his head.

"What's so tragic that the ever _unskeptical_ Kurt Hummel shakes his head at?" a deep voice rang out behind him.

"Blaine!" Kurt almost jumped out of his chair to wrap his arms around him, but stopped himself just in time. "Blaine, I was worried about you! What happened?"

There was a silence, a prolonged silence that, had Kurt not known Blaine so well by now, he would not have noticed.

"…Things. I'm sorry I couldn't make it yesterday. There were just… complications in my family. But I'm here now! And I believe I owe you an answer?"

Kurt wanted to ask him what happened with his family. He knew what it was like to be under pressure like that: it felt like blistering from the inside out. He understood the boiling just beneath the surface, forever waiting to detonate. It only needed a small catalyst to erupt, if kept undiffused. But he also understood the irrational need to keep it a secret. It was a taboo in society, to talk about your pain. It ruined the disguise. And talking made it all the more real, demanded a fixative attention that wasn't always ready to be granted.

He wanted to comfort Blaine, he really wanted to sweep him up in his arms and never let go.

But it was too soon for that, they weren't that comfortable with each other yet, and Kurt didn't have the strength to take chances at that particular moment. So he asked a different question instead.

"Do you want to go out tomorrow night?"

Blaine did a double take.

"Well, that was certainly not what I was expecting," he said a little cautiously. His hand twitched at his side.

"Come on, you know you want to have a night out with your brand spanking new unsightly friend. Forget the world. Forget whatever's bothering you. It'll be therapeutic."

"Is this you asking me on a date, Kurt Hummel?"

"We'll call it more of an excursion," he replied coyly, taking in the way Blaine's pupils had become subtly wider.

"Wait, so…" he continued a few moments later, "This is going to sound really stupid, but, does that mean you really are gay?"

Blaine howled with a sharp bite of laughter. "Yes, yes," he confirmed after his laughs winded down. "I can't believe I never told you that!"

Kurt laughed along with him. "Good, good. I've had crushes on straight guys before, never goes well."

"Crush?" Blaine asked. He was trying to hide a blush, although his tan cheeks probably looked good with a bit of rosy color. He popped his cheeks in and out once, something Kurt found particularly endearing, and pursed his lips. In a way that made it hard for Kurt to resist meeting them with his own. Now.

He quickly pulled away from that disastrous train of thought and refocused on Blaine's face. It looked… surprised. Oh shit, he had said he had a crush on him, hadn't he?

"I, uh… yeah. See, this always happens to me. See, I… can I be honest?" He was twiddling his fingers together nervously, and Blaine seemed to have noticed. He was subconsciously repeating the action with his own.

Blaine looked on expectantly.

"I have… certain types of feelings for you… which would've been a minor issue if you weren't gay," he tacked on, laughing nervously. Blaine looked nervous too. Shit, shit, shit. Had he said the wrong thing? Blaine just sat there, staring on at Kurt, until the silence stretched on a little too long. Kurt continued, kind of rambling, "Regardless of my feelings though, Blaine, you're amazing. You should never feel less than amazing. And I feel really bad for you feeling less than amazing right now and you deserve to feel more than amazing so… go out with me? I promise it'll make you feel better." He laughed timidly. "I, uh, maybe I shouldn't promise, that's a very strong word, but…"

Blaine kept staring. Even though he was probably trying to figure out a way to reject him nicely right now, he still looked otherworldly just sitting there; it was unreal. How had Kurt befriended him and gotten to this position? How had Kurt even drummed up the courage to ask him to go somewhere with him? Why would a comely want to be seen with an unsightly? They had never really interacted outside of the Lima Bean or texting, anyways.

"Yes," he suddenly responded, smiling up at Kurt. God, his smile was beautiful.

"Yes? That's a yes?" Kurt confirmed, trying to check his excitement.

"Yes, I like how I feel with you. You make me feel pretty great, you know."

Kurt squealed internally. "And so our budding friendship continues to bloom," he responded, his face scrunching up in a smile.

Blaine smiled back, secrets he wanted to share scrawled all over his eyes.

* * *

Later that day, Kurt received a text from Blaine.

_Blaine Anderson: You know, what you said at the Lima Bean kept bugging me all day, and I finally figured out why! It reminded me of this quote by Anais Nin I had read once. It goes something like this: "And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."_

* * *

The entire day was preoccupied with finding the perfect place to take Blaine tomorrow. He couldn't screw this up; this was his one (miraculous) chance. His options were limited, not being able to do the nicer and finer things, but he figured Blaine had had enough of that to last his entire life time and more. He wanted to take him somewhere that would embody the true getaway spirit that he wanted Blaine to feel. He didn't want Blaine to have to _think_ there, just be. That's all Blaine needed to do, just be for a while.

He took a walk through Lima, trying to find inspiration.

All he saw as he walked were the deadened people of his home town, world weary and tired. They didn't look engaged at all, and it scared him when he stopped to think about it. How much the ignorance they held in their minds translated to a lethal weapon. How much the void became a hole, a raucous but ill-informed hole. How ignorance was just as hazardous as stupidity. They all looked the same, all trying to conform to the same standards. The entire concept was just ludicrous. Blaine had even explained it once, the concept of averageness being more attractive than inimitability. (He had said it was called koinophilia, and laughed bitterly. "As if it needs a label," he had said. "Maybe if no one had the means to say it, then it would've just… faded out. The entire concept exiled back to oblivion. Wouldn't that have been nice?") While he sometimes found himself wishing away his distinctiveness, that always came and gone as his strength ebbed and flowed. Other people's foreign fascination with standards never failed to sicken him.

"That's it then," Kurt thought suddenly to himself. "You live in Lima, Ohio. Stop looking for the bigger within the normal._ Everything_ here is small and normal. Remember the whole 'appreciate the small things' concept? There's something greater here, but it's hidden _within_ the normal. Which place makes you feel like more than that?"

With that, Kurt had the destination set for his impending date.

* * *

Kurt woke up, the familiar sounds of a Saturday morning greeting him. Throwing off his scratchy sheets, he wandered over to pick up his phone from the charger.

_Blaine Anderson: Excited! I am ready for our Saturday morning? afternoon? evening? getaway!_

Kurt smiled to himself reading the text.

_Kurt: Me too, babe ;)_

_Kurt: And by the way, it's a lovely *morning*_ _getaway. : )_

_Blaine Anderson: Location and time?_

_Kurt: I'll come over to your house and we can walk there! It would help if I knew where you lived…_

_Blaine Anderson: How about we meet at the Lima Bean instead and we can go from there?_

_Kurt: Sounds good to me!_

* * *

Kurt ordered his usual: grande nonfat mocha. Sipping at it nonchalantly, he sat down at their table and started waiting.

Their table. That caught him by surprise… when had he ever started referring to it as _their_ table?

Fortunately, he didn't have to wait long, for Blaine sprung up behind him merely seconds later.

Blaine crouched down behind him, grabbing his shoulders. "Kurt!"

"Don't scare me like that!" he shrieked, involuntarily batting the air around him while he spun around.

What greeted Kurt as he turned around made his breath catch for a moment too long. Blaine was out of his Dalton uniform, in casual clothes… and he was _fashionable._ Kurt would've eased up on the gel, as always, but other than that, his outfit was well put together. It may have been overkill on the stripes, with the red striped shirt and the black and white striped bowtie, but otherwise… Kurt found his style really endearing. And his tight mustard jeans didn't hurt either.

Blaine's laugh brought Kurt back to reality.

"So where's our destination this morning?" he asked airily, waving his hand in a gentle swoop.

"That, my dear sir, only time will tell."

Blaine inclined his head as if to say "fair enough" and gestured to Kurt to lead the way.

* * *

"Here it is!" Kurt declared, spreading his arms and jumping around with a little twirl. "I know it's not much, and I'm usually all about the big and flashy, but I thought you'd appreciate it."

They were standing underneath leafy green foliage. Blaine looked up to watch the wind ruffle the leaves, like a pale hand's gentle caress. He looked back down at Kurt, and Kurt stared at him hopefully. He knew what he was seeing behind him, just a simple park. A swingset, a bench tucked into the corner of a mulched area, a covered area out in the near distance, a metal labyrinth of platforms and monkey bars and slides, and a faux rock climbing wall. For a moment he worried that it wouldn't be enough for him.

But then he saw recognition flicker in Blaine's eyes, and he knew he appreciated it.

"This is where we met," he said, looking around with a renewed interest.

Kurt gestured for them to occupy the nearby bench.

"That's right, Blaine Anderson, this is where we met. Would you like the cash or the car?"

Blaine just smiled broadly back at him.

"I chose this place," Kurt continued, "number one because there wasn't a big enough place around here to lose ourselves in, but also because I was thinking about what you said before, about appreciating the small things in life. You know, it's _Lima,_ Ohio. There's not much here. You wanted to get away, and I wanted to bring you somewhere where you could. But… that's the thing, and you've said this before too: getting away isn't always the solution. And I just thought that here, where it's quiet and peaceful, it'd be easier to not get away, but instead _find_ something here. The solution. Another piece to the puzzle. Something helpful or poetic like that."

"Because I'm such a poet, remember?" he said, grinning.

Kurt nudged him in the shoulder. "I just… I want you to find something shimmery to hold onto in the midst of this dull life. And when I was trying to figure out where to take you… I realized that this place was the first place I thought of when I figured out I should be searching for something that made me _feel _more than normal rather than _being_ more than normal."

"I… Wow, Kurt. I don't really know what to say."

"Tell me about anything, just whatever comes to your mind in this next instant."

"I think I may reciprocate."

Kurt's eyes narrowed, almost not believing this was true. "Reciprocate what exactly?"

"Your feelings."

Kurt paused, one finger raised in the air and a sly smile pulling up the right corner of his mouth. "Hold on, I want to do this on the swings. It's more romantic that way."

Blaine nodded, pink tongue flicking out in glee. He tentatively grabbed Kurt's hand, looking up at him shyly for affirmation. Kurt nodded and squeezed it gently. Hand in hand, they ran towards the swing sets.

Kurt settled in, swinging his seat in a circular motion gently. He rested his head against the cold metal links attaching the swing seat to the metal frame. "Please continue," he whispered.

Blaine swallowed. "Oh, now the pressure's on." A shaky laugh. "I, uh, well… You know, I… you're… do you remember when I said you were different?"

Kurt nodded.

"And I thought I recognized you?"

Another nod.

"That's because… I… I kind of… No, let me start over." A deep breath. "Kurt Hummel, you are the most charming, stunning boy I have ever met. You doing this for me… I can't even say what it means to me. It's really helped. And I… I want to… want to help you too. So, it would be my _absolute_ pleasure if you would dare to call me yours, and you mine." Blaine finished, Kurt still gazing at him wide eyed and on the verge of breathlessness yet again, the cold metal against his cheek the only thing keeping him anchored to reality.

And then Blaine leaned forward and kissed him.

His eyes fluttered closed, his heart beat quicker, his hand contracting and expanding on the only source of cold in his body right now. Because all he could feel, all he could comprehend was Blaine's mouth on his, warm and softer than he had expected lips to be. Blaine's lips pulling on his, him pulling back. It was a glorious feeling, one that didn't fade for several minutes as they explored each other in a desperate sort of way, like they'd been deprived all their lives of this simple pleasure.

It was over all too soon.

"That was my first kiss," Blaine said giddily after a few moments of mutual heavy breathing between the two of them.

"Mine too," Kurt agreed. "What a kiss." He shook his head.

"What a kiss indeed," Blaine replied, glancing up through his eyelashes at Kurt. "Would you like to… shall we…"

"Do it again?" Kurt supplied, nodding eagerly.

Blaine laughed and closed the space between them with renewed vigor.

* * *

A stout man happened to be passing by while Kurt and Blaine cemented their affections on the swing set.

The breeze blew around them, the man seeing a pristine picture of young affection. Wisps of free hair floated about the brunette boy's head, providing a comical contrast to the almost glued on hair of the other shorter one as they kissed.

As he walked home, he realized he did recognize one of the two lovebirds on that swing set. One of them was his coworker's son, Blaine Anderson. He felt like this was a private moment he couldn't intrude on, yet the old gossip flared up in him.

He had to tell Mr. Anderson that his son just might've found himself love.


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Blaine officially had a favorite place in the world.

They always asked you where your favorite place was; it was a standard "getting to know you" question, one they often asked on surveys on websites or those worksheets teachers used to hand out at the beginning of the year in an attempt to know a little bit about you before real learning began. Blaine never quite knew what to put for those; he was always torn between putting the truth down, that he had yet to visit his favorite place, or writing a standard answer: wherever the heart is, with my family, with my friends, etc. Now he could answer it.

His favorite place was in the middle of Lima, Ohio, a rundown park where almost no one visited, where the air was pure and crisp and untainted by others. Leaves spiraled to the ground on small gusts of wind, scattered all around the rusted metal contraptions and kicked about mulch. There was a sense of clarity, a feeling of relief from some acute pain when he stepped into its boundaries. It was affection that he could hold in his hand, tingling he could taste in his mouth, light he could have and enjoy beneath his fingertips.

It was where he had his first kiss.

It was where he experienced joy he had never felt before.

It was his and Kurt's place now. He wasn't afraid to claim anything in his and Kurt's name anymore, it was undeniably _theirs._

* * *

The rest of the day passed quickly for him. He headed back home, giddy on his delight, and his parents were both sitting on a leather couch in the living room, whispering quietly among themselves. His mother looked worried, her waxed eyebrows furrowing lightly as she looked on at her father. His father's back was turned to him, but he could see his slight hand gesticulations. He was clearly worried about something too.

"Are you guys alright?"

His mother's back straightened almost imperceptibly. "We're fine dear, thanks for the concern."

Blaine shrugged and went up to his room.

The cold blond haired comely from the day he met Kurt was waiting for him outside of Dalton Monday afternoon as he walked out the doors.

She searched for him in the crowd for a moment, and when she finally located him, pushed through the crowd (or rather walked through, as they all parted like the red sea for the pretty girl in their midst, some of the cruder boys whistling below their breath and the shyer ones looking down fondly at her before lowering their heads and marching on) and pulled him aside.

"Alright, this is our second encounter and I don't know your name," he said before the girl could say anything. "My name is Blaine Anderson, you are?" He stuck out his hand.

"Quinn Fabray," she answered, shaking it delicately. "Listen, I know we don't really know each other and the weight of what I'm saying is pretty serious, but there are rumours being spread about you, you know. You and Kurt. I have no idea if they're true, but I can't imagine that your parents would be too happy about it, not if they're like my parents. So I'd suggest either going home and facing the music now, or avoiding them for a couple of hours so they can cool off. I can even offer up my presence if you don't want to wander around aimlessly."

"That's… incredibly thoughtful of you, Quinn. To be honest, I wouldn't expected you to have been so nice, especially after our first encounter."

She shrugged. "I was having a bad day, sorry. Besides, I was feeling particularly tired of being a comely that day, and then you just bump into me, so obviously being a comely yourself. It irritated me." She shrugged. "So what's your decision? Going home? Coming with me?"

"Sure you're not accompanying me just to get me alone?" he asked playfully.

"I'm absolutely sure," she answered, the corners of her mouth twitching.

"Well, in that case, we have much to talk about! May you grace me with your company this afternoon, Miss Fabray?"

"Slow down, Blaine, we're still in the 21st century here. Which means outdated language isn't appropriate in this time era."

* * *

"You said you're tired of being a comely?" Blaine asked curiously, looking through his eyelashes at Quinn.

They were walking aimlessly, merely observing the scenery and talking.

"It's a more complicated life than it seems, don't you think?" she answered, smiling weakly at him. "Or maybe that's just because I think about it too much… or maybe because I don't belong here… something just feels off about it all."

"What do you mean about 'off'?"

"I just… I'm supposed to be the stereotype. I'm a cheerleader, I'm skinny and beautiful, right? Well, you didn't know that. But that's what everyone thinks of me. Always got the boys at my fingertips, I've got the world at my feet. In high school, I'm who everyone wants to be."

"I don't beli-"

"-I'm sorry, Blaine, I know I'm being rude. And you don't know me. But I have to finish saying this. Then you can go or tell me I went too far."

Blaine pressed his lips together but nodded. She sighed and continued.

"I feel like the more you supposedly fit in, you know, the more you end up standing out. It's an internal battle, always trying to figure out how to hide yourself. And eventually you just get tired. Really, really, tired. And you don't know how to go on."

"And uh, I realize this sounds slightly pretentious," she continued, "but I just wanted to offer my consolatory friendship. Again, I have no idea how your parents are, but I can recognize when someone's hurting behind their mask. Know it all too well. And we can all use a friend in a time of need, right?"

"I was saying that I don't believe in stereotypes," he said abruptly. She smiled, either a "he's an idiot" smile or a "thank you for your concern" smile, but a bare smile.

"They seem stupid to me."

She laughed. "Well, aren't we articulate when we believe in something?"

"The entire classification, it's so unjust," he persisted. "I don't want to be a stereotype. I don't _like_ the idea of stereotype. You're right about the' more you fit in, the more you stand out' idea; it's true. The more people build walls around you, the more the real you tries to break out of them. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it's to no avail."

"Do you feel boxed in by what people think of you?"

"More by what people think I should be. I'm a comely, I should be ever the gentleman in the presence of other comelies, yet treat the 'others' like dirt. I should be well mannered, and know when I'm stepping out of line. I should be the exemplary son, student, and friend, yet somehow fund a secret rebellion against those very institutions once anyone who matters has turned their back. It's exhausting, and I've spent my entire life trying to do that very thing, and failed every time. And as soon as I get the chance to do something natural, something that's completely _mine_… someone has to go and tell someone else about it. That someone else being my parents. Who will probably freak out at me when I get back home." He sighed. "It's all so unfair."

"You know what," she said; there was an undeniable twinkle in her eye. "You're right, this is unfair. And I don't want you to stand for it."

"But what can I do? We can't change our worlds, even if we team up together. All we can do is throw them into chaos and hope they turn out right. And I don't know if I'm willing to take that chance."

"Ready or not, Blaine Anderson, your world _is_ about to be thrown off its axis. So you better be ready. Here's what you're going to do: you're going to go home, stand up to your parents, and if they give you much trouble I'll be here to talk to you," she reached her hand out then. Blaine placed his phone in her hand with a smile, and she continued talking as she fiddled with his phone, "and you're not going to let yourself be mowed over by them. And you're not gonna let yourself lose what you just got because everyone else says you can't have it. Got it?" She handed him his phone back and waited patiently.

"Got it, Miss Fabray."

"Good. Now get your butt in gear and go out and change the world for me, 'kay?"

He mock saluted, grinning.

* * *

When Blaine walked in, his parents were whispering on the couch again. The similarities between this encounter and the last were almost amusing, the way his father's hands splayed out in the exact same way, the way his mother looked on concernedly at his father the same way, and the way her back straightened when she realized he was there the exact same way.

"Blainey, honey," she cooed, standing up. "Blaine, what's going on?"

Blaine prayed playing dumb would work this time. "What do you mean 'what's going on'?"

It didn't work. It never did. "You and Kurt Hummel," his father said, getting up to stand alongside his mother.

Blaine could run now. He was closest to the door, and they probably didn't care enough to stop him.

"I like him." He tried to stop his legs from shaking traitorously, his muscles from tensing into a running position.

"Blaine, you're allowed to like someone," his mother said, crossing the distance to pat him in an act of comfort on the shoulder.

At that, the shaking in his legs stopped. "What?"

"You're allowed to like someone," his father repeated.

"I… I'm allowed?"

"Absolutely, you're a teenager, you're allowed to have crushes." His mother was tentatively smiling.

"You're… okay with all of this?"

"Just crushes, unfortunately," his father rang in. His mother winced but stood her ground.

"Just crushes? _Just crushes?_ What world do you live in? I'm 17! I should be allowed to date if I want to!"

"Darling, it's for the best."

"What do you mean, for the best? You'd let me date someone else; it's Kurt!"

"We never had to make a decision on it before because you haven't dated anyone before him."

"What is it about Kurt that you both dislike so much?"

"Blaine-"

"Have you even seen Kurt?"

"No," his father cut in. "We don't need to."

"You don't need to? What kind of nonsense is that? Why have you judged him already?"

His mother shook her head as if she were in pain. "We haven't-"

"It's because he's an unsightly, isn't it?" Blaine was clenching and unclenching his fists. He knew he did this when he was angry, and that was why he had taken up boxing when he noticed it, because he was a relatively peaceful person with a lot of concealed frustration, and he didn't want it to boil over one day with catastrophic consequences.

There was no response from his parents.

"You guys are unbelievable!" he shouted. "Why can't you let me have something for once in my life? Please? All you ever do is tear me down in your own special way! Why does it matter so much if he's an unsightly anyways? This is not the 1920s; it's not like classes matter as much anymore!"

"You wouldn't understand," his mother said, tears brimming her eyes. "Please, Blaine, listen to us."

He tried to calm down, sit on the sofa. His father started to approach, but carefully kept his distance.

"You'd just be mixing with the wrong kind, Blaine, and then you could fall into being one of them."

"And what's wrong with that?" Blaine asked in a threatening tone underneath his breath.

"Things beyond your control," he answered.

"Such as?"

"The economy is so bad right now, and we really need the extra income," his mother tried to add in, coming again to stand beside his father.

"The extra income from me being a comely? We don't need extra income; we're rich!"

"It helps in ways you don't understand," his father said.

"You just don't want to give up the rich lifestyle!" he responded. "Look, we'd still be rich if I wasn't a comely. Not much would change either. My social status, maybe. That'd be about it. Why are you getting so upset anyways? There's not a way to change the fact that I'm a comely, no matter how much I want to."

Silence greeted him again.

"Okay, look, I don't want to fight with you guys, okay?" His mother let out a huge breath and started forward. "But I don't like this decision that you want to make on my behalf." She stopped. "Could you at least give me the dignity of making my own decisions for myself? I don't know what I feel for Kurt, but it feels a lot like something bigger than just liking him. And I'd appreciate it if you accepted that."

There was a pause that Blaine absently filled by counting the growth rings of the wood floor beneath his feet.

"Okay," his dad finally said.

"Okay?" Blaine was careful to keep his voice schooled.

"Okay."

"Thank you guys," he said cordially, and with a small smile fled to his room to relive his victory.

* * *

The victory wasn't complete, of course, as it had become an unspoken rule among them that they were not to be made purposely aware that him and Kurt were now dating, and that Kurt could not come over. He didn't think it was that they were homophobic, because they'd never seemed to have much problem with that, but they had never been thrilled by it either. The rest of Lima, however, was a different story. Maybe it was because he was trying to break through the ranks of people who wanted to be just like each other. Maybe it was because he was daring to start living his life the way he wanted to. The reason, just like the reason all bad things happen, was unknown, but the consequences were quite clear. He was to be secretive about this new wonderful thing he'd found, and he was to like it. It was what was best for everyone, and of course he wanted what was best for everyone, so he'd be generous and take one for the team, and never look back. There was only one issue, though: he wasn't sure this was a team he wanted to be on.

* * *

_Blaine Anderson: It was a success!_

_Quinn Fabray: It was a success? It was a success! Phase 2: prep you for the rest of the world._

_Blaine Anderson: What do you mean?_

_Quinn Fabray: I mean that this is not going to be easy, Blaine. Especially not in this town. But you can do it._

_Quinn Fabray: Is he worth it, Blaine?_

_Blaine Anderson: I think so, yeah._

_Quinn Fabray: Then, like I said, go out there and change the world for me, okay? Make me proud._


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"I'm not allowed in your house?"

Kurt wasn't surprised really, he had expected something like this… he just didn't expect it so soon.

"I'm sorry, Kurt," Blaine answered. "My parents… like I said… they're difficult."

They were back at the Lima Bean, people scurrying around them and their table as if nothing had changed, as if they were just the same two people they were a few days ago. Kurt still got the occasional dirty look, and, although he desperately wished that this was merely imagined, Blaine got a few directed towards him too.

"Do you wanna tell me about it?"

Blaine looked ready to give an excuse, but Kurt arched his eyebrow at him, mentally scolding him with a 'don't you dare Blaine Anderson, we're dating now, you can tell me anything' type of stare.

"Oh alright," Blaine conceded, taking Kurt's hand in his. "I'm sorry, it's just so hard for me to let the defenses down sometimes. I can do it with complete strangers on rare occasions, but that's usually only when I reach the point of desperation."

"I never felt like you had your defenses up when you were with me," Kurt said. Blaine's face lit up. "Did you?"

"No, not really." Kurt felt the shadow of Blaine's kiss before it actually landed on his cheek; he smiled into it. "You were my anomaly."

"Anomaly, hmm, I like the sound of that. It's a nice word, _anomaly_."

Blaine hummed contently in agreement for a few moments, seeming to enjoy the moment and the feeling of Kurt's hand in his. Suddenly he shook his head. "Right, my parents. They're not homophobic, per say… they never disliked that about me, I guess, but they never liked it either… I don't know exactly why you're not allowed. It's a kind of silent agreement between us; I'm allowed to date you as long as I don't make them too aware of your presence."

"Hmm, do you think they'll ever grow out of it?" he asked gently.

Blaine just looked at him sadly.

"Alright, we'll just have to work around it then," he said quickly, squeezing his hand. "We've always got my house as a haven, okay? My dad's overjoyed, and at the same time unjustly paranoid but we won't get into that, that I have a boyfriend now, and someone who I really seem to like too. He would love to meet you, you know."

"Meet your dad?" Blaine was cautious. "Already? Gee, that seems… fast."

"And is that a bad thing, Mr. Anderson?" He was smiling. "You know we've never been normal in that sense."

"Indeed, that we've never been," Blaine responded, drumming his fingers on the table lightly. "Alright," he said after a few moments, "we're going to meet the parents then."

"That's the Blaine I know!"

* * *

"Hand me that wrench, Kurt."

His dad slid out from underneath the car he was working on, looking expectantly up at Kurt.

"I hate being in this grease factory," Kurt said, shifting on the stool he was sitting on, but grudgingly handed him the wrench.

Truth be told, Kurt only did this to keep up a reputation of sorts. He didn't hate being in his family's car shop as much as he made out that he did. He liked seeing his father work through things like he did, methodically and calmly. It probably did him good to have something to focus his mind and hands on, lest he begin to go mad from the monotony of it all. Kurt's mom had died when he was young, and he could feel Burt's loneliness sometimes, as clearly as it was his own.

"Hey, would you rather be doing the dirty work?"

"No, I suppose not."

"Then quit your complaining, kid."

"Listen dad," he started, abstractedly picking up an oiled rag from a nearby counter. Ugh, that had to be a death wish for his skin. "Do you remember Blaine?"

"That boy?" Burt asked.

"Yes, dad, _that boy_. Well, we're kind of dating now. _And,_ I kinda want him to meet you."

Burt slid back underneath the car.

"Do I have to act tough or have you already done the job for me?"

"Father, really. 'Act tough'? You're not intimidating; he'll see right through it!"

"I bet Blaine'll find me plenty intimidating, just you wait!" Burt's voice projected from underneath the car.

"Honestly, you sound ridiculous. So is this a yes to Blaine coming over?"

"As much as a yes as I'll ever give you," Burt answered. Tinkering started sounding from underneath the car, which Kurt took as a cue to leave.

"Thanks dad," he trilled. "And remember, don't scare away my first boyfriend! Please, lord, _don't_ scare him away."

Ominous silence greeted him from underneath the car, but Kurt simply laughed and turned to walk out of the shop. Just as he was out the door, a hoot rang from within.

* * *

_Unknown Number: Kurt, your boyfriend has a secret._

_Unknown Number: It's probably something that's important for you to know._

_Unknown Number: If you want to know, you should meet me at the Lima Bean. Same table that you and Blaine usually sit at. I'll be there early in the morning to rock your world._

_Unknown Number: And don't you think about not coming, or a precious secret of your own may just leak to the adoring presses._

* * *

He couldn't completely ignore the portentous texts, but he could do his best to ignore them for the time being. He still had the most of a day to prepare for Blaine meeting his dad later tonight, and he intended to make the absolute best of it.

He had already informed his parents of The Rules (They hadn't even known that 'rules' had existed, which almost induced tears on the spot.). These included: do not attempt homemade dishes without Kurt Hummel's approval, to your absolute best ability to keep all embarrassing anecdotes about your child when he was young secluded to your mind only, and most importantly, do not make this house just as bad to come to as Blaine's (forbidden) house. After thoroughly reiterating these rules, he left his dad to further the cooking and headed up to his room before Blaine came over, against his better judgment.

Blaine informed him via phone call that he was going to be coming over in a few minutes. Kurt surprised himself by ripping a pillow off his bed and clutching it to his chest tightly to calm his nerves. It wasn't even their first date; why was he so nervous?

He knew the answer though, and he knew pretending like he didn't know the answer was a futile endeavor. All it took was a quick stock of his surroundings (a cramped room, jaggedly cut magazine pages scattered unceremoniously around the walls, dim lighting) to understand. This was not captivating or impressive in anyway. This, _him_… they were boring.

* * *

There was knocking on the door, and it was as if time stood still. Kurt looked up from his dad's side, the cooking's aroma wafting through the air, anticipation flitting in the air around him like an anxious horde of fireflies.

"Alright dad, just take the chicken out and set it on the counter, okay? _Don't _do anything else. Do _not_ touch it. Just… set it down. There you go."

"Relax bud! Everything's gonna be fine."

Kurt just shrugged in what he hoped was a nonchalant matter, trying in vain to calm the jitters in him. He counted to three in his head, and then with a deep breath, opened the door.

"Residence of the Hummels, why have you come calling?"

Blaine's eyes flickered down to Kurt's hand, seeming to want to take it.

"I believe a 'Kurt' resides within?"

"Nope." He mock closed the door.

"Kurt!" Blaine exclaimed, stopping the door. "Ah, Mr. Hummel," he said more cordially as he glanced behind him at a stern Burt. "Your home is lovely."

"Thank you Blaine, but you don't have to lie. It's a piece of crap, but it's _our_ piece of crap, and I'm proud of it."

He nodded diplomatically, eyes glittering as he snuck a glance at Kurt. _My charm's not gonna work on him!_ they transmitted; Kurt stifled a laugh and volleyed back _Then try a different approach or just go with the flow!_

"So, Blaine, this is going to be awkward for both of us, I promise, but as a father it's my duty." Blaine swallowed discreetly. "Son, your intentions here are sincere?"

"Dad!" Kurt exclaimed, quickly ushering him to the faded wooden dining table. "Let's at least eat first before we get to the questioning!"

They journeyed the short distance to the table and sat down; Burt continued his questioning seamlessly as Kurt fluttered around, preparing the table and serving the food helplessly.

"Sir, I promise I'm not here to take advantage of Kurt."

"Good," he nodded. "Too many people try to do that, and he sure as hell deserves something true." Kurt ducked his head as he was cutting the chicken, a blush spreading warmly across his cheeks.

"Have you ever done this before?" Burt continued, unrelenting stare on Blaine.

"…No. Kurt and I are in the same boat in that aspect."

Burt cracked a smile then. "I hope you boys figure it out well enough together then," he said, his face suddenly softening. Kurt slowed in slicing the chicken and depositing it on everyone's plates then. _You did it, Blaine_ he shot across the table with his eyes. _He likes you._

_You really think so?_ Blaine asked back with a widening of his own.

_I'm as sure that he does as I am sure that American Idol is tanking next_ _season_ he winked. _Don't get me wrong, I love me a singer-song writer, but Jessica _totally_ deserved to win. And Randy's the only stable judge role they have. Destined for failure._

* * *

The dinner had gone well, as right after Burt had asked a few other only minorly intimidating and invasive questions, he asked Blaine about his hobby for boxing, and soon the conversation derailed to fight clubs and then sports and then a subject Kurt could latch onto, television and movies. After more than a few jovial laughs it was over, and Kurt was escorting Blaine out.

"That went really well, you know," he offered once they were outside the house, lingering by Blaine's car.

"Mm, you really think so?" Blaine asked, drawing his maroon jacket around him as the winds picked up around them.

"I really like this color," Kurt commented absently, playing with one of the jacket's buttons. "Your scarf nicely complements it too," he murmured, toying with the shock of fringe on its end intently. He didn't want to look up. There was something else on his mind despite how well this night had gone, but he didn't want to bring it up, because, again, that made it real. He'd much rather play with Blaine's scarf and focus on the fact that Blaine was here and his and his father approved of him.

Blaine, evidently, didn't want to play at the "ignorance is bliss" game. "What's bothering you, Kurt?"

Hazel met blue, but then blue quickly concentrated on the ground.

"I just want to enjoy that you're here," Kurt replied. "Let's not think about anything else right now, alright?"

"No, Kurt," he brought a hand up to his face to stroke it gently, once. "Tell me."

Kurt couldn't deny his touch, no matter how much his more cautious insides told him to. They set his heart alight, and it felt like was broiling in the flames, engulfed in Blaine's touch.

"I just… I was afraid you'd be bored by all of this," he whispered, focusing on the cement beneath their feet. "It's not… fancy or nice like everything else you have. _I'm_ not fancy or nice like everyone else you know. I'm just kind of there, and sometimes others don't even acknowledge that at all."

Blaine placed a finger underneath his chin and tipped it upward to meet his gaze. Cosmos floated in the space between their skin, the star speckled sky above reaching a yearning hand out to reclaim its treasures.

"Kurt." The sky's limb stretched further. "You may not have fancy things," the hand got closer, "no expensive clothes," if this figurative hand could breathe its breath would touch the now closing space, "no paintings hung on the wall in splendor, an old tv set, a small living space," if the hand could only reach out just a little more, "but none of that matters." The fingers closed. "Don't you remember, you're different and special and I like you in spite of and because you are an unsightly. You don't have to impress me, I'm already captivated."

And with that the space was grabbed up and stolen forever, as Kurt and Blaine brought their lips together roughly, Kurt feeling undeniably tingly all over at the sensation. He would never get used to this, being kissed by a boy that actually wanted him and being able to kiss this boy who actually wanted him back. He would never get used to way their bodies pressed together, how there was a person so willing to do this with him, explore the sensualities of physicality together, giggling and red faced at how new and exciting it all was. Most of all, he would never get used to the fact that this wasn't going to disappear beneath his fingertips, like a dream or an apparition. This was _real_.

A series of coughs rang out from inside the house, and they broke apart, giddy but borderline mortified that Burt had seen that entire minutes spanning ordeal. Burt's face looked schooled and harsh, but Kurt could see the jubilance behind the set. He was happy for Kurt and his boyfriend. Boyfriend. Kurt and _his boyfriend_.

Dear god, he would never get sick of this feeling.

* * *

It was only later when he was lying awake in his bed at night that he remembered the anonymous texts. He decided that he was going to face this person, no matter what happened. He finally had this thing in his hands, and he wasn't going to let it go. It was something too extraordinary to let slip from his grasp.

Yet, carrying that feeling into the coffee shop earlier in the morning than usual was more difficult than he imagined. He always thought of the Lima Bean as something almost sacred to their relationship, something no one else could've touched. This was where they met, where they grew together, where they learned to love together. This person shouldn't be able to break that.

'This person' was curiously handsome. His features were vaguely scrunched up, but it didn't unflatter him at all. His brown hair was styled obnoxiously high, a few freckles dusted across his face. In his green eyes lurked something predatory, something vaguely dangerous. He was about the same age as Kurt, and wearing a Dalton blazer. He wondered loosely if Blaine knew him or had made him an enemy of him sometime, and if that was why he was here.

"Alright," he instigated, "What do you want me here for?"

"Easy, twinkle turd, you have something I want." The stranger turned his gaze on Kurt, cold and unwavering. "But first, let me say, I'm glad you came, or I'd have to follow up on my empty threat. But it's obvious that you do have a secret now, and I wonder if I could just happen to stumble upon it?"

Kurt turned his full on death glare on him.

"Whoa now, calm down with the daggers. I'm Sebastian Smythe," he said the name as if it were something to remember, as if it was significant, "I always get what I want. You can't stop that."

"What are you, some sort of Dalton upper class aggressor here to pick on the weaklings while they're still fresh from the litter?"

"I want that sexy piece of ass you have there."

"You want Blaine?"

"Yes, do I need to make myself any clearer?" He laughed easily and maliciously.

"You can't have him," Kurt held forcefully.

"Ah, so innocent. So trusting. I _will_ get what I want. Now listen, here are the terms of agreement."

"I'm not agreeing to anything, and my boyfriend is not something we can negotiate over," Kurt repeated again, firm.

"One," He continued over Kurt's protests, "you break up with him. I don't care how, but you do it. Two, he doesn't know it's because of me. It wouldn't be a good way to start off a relationship if he knew I was a lying cheating whore, now would it?" He winked; Kurt gagged. "Three, if you do not break up with him, I retain the right to spread _his_ secret."

"And what would that be?" Kurt drawled, affecting a bored yet resistant voice.

"Blaine and his family are not what they seem. Blaine's dad works in the id-ing rooms in the hospital, did you know that? He holds a lot of influence over people here. He's the one that made you an unsightly, and I bet your precious boyfriend didn't tell you that either, now did he?"

Kurt struggled to deny Sebastian the satisfaction of a reaction.

"But here's the issue," he continued, "and it's a sweet one too. Blaine's dad purposely made Blaine a comely! He's not one of us. That's right, he's not everything you thought he was! He doesn't deserve all he's given, not the money, not the popularity, not the status. He deserves to be down there in the dumps with you, forever pining to be like the someone he is now."

Face completely blank.

"But oh, it gets even better," he whispered, leaning closer to Kurt. "He's not as safe in that deception as he thinks, either. His dad thinks he changed the records so that Blaine can remain a comely, but he's wrong. They don't say he's a comely anymore. In fact, they say he's just what you are. He's an _unsightly._ We wouldn't want that leaking to the public, now would we? What would it do to his social standing? How would his parents react?"

As if on cue, Kurt's face fell.

And also as if on cue, Blaine walked in, as chipper as ever. Kurt's mind was reeling. Did Blaine already know about this? Was Kurt going to tell him about it?

"Oh look, there he is now. Have fun, Kurt." Sebastian patted him on the head. "Try to end it without breaking his heart, 'kay? Leave something for me to break, too." With a wink and a stench of too present cologne, Sebastian was gone, and Blaine had taken his place.

Blaine hadn't seen Sebastian and continued as if nothing had happened. In the split second between meeting his eyes and speaking, Kurt decided to play along. He couldn't do this to Blaine just for his own benefit; he wasn't that selfish. Blaine already had his parents down on him because of Kurt, the news of them being together was pissing off the town, and Kurt wasn't that special. Kurt didn't know if he deserved to put Blaine through this emotional anguish. After a minute or so of studying Blaine's bright features, dewy and warm and happy, he knew he wasn't a good enough reason to shatter that. As much as it pained him to, he had to break up with Blaine.

The thought made him sick.


	9. Chapter 8

_A/N: Here's the new update! My family is travelling to visit my cousins tomorrow, so my update schedule is going to be off again. I get back Monday night though, so I should be able to post the next update next thing Tuesday! Thank you for all my lovely readers, again. I'm sure you get tired of me lavishing thanks on you, but I really appreciate your interest! 3_

Chapter 8

According to Kurt, Blaine wasn't in a position to judge hair styles. Not until he threw away his hair gel and never looked at it again. Ever. But Blaine couldn't help but pass judgment on this particular woman who passed by, struggling holding her shopping bags, her flashy sparkling purse, and her order from Subway. Neon pink streaks that popped out of her dirty blond hair framed her old and exhausted face. He understood the entire concept of wanting to stay youthful, wanting to rebel, and using a visual image and presentation to achieve this, but honestly, this was too much. And if the hair wasn't enough, her clothes were entirely too tight, and she looked sadly tired underneath the loud and overstated makeup she wore. She had to be at least 40; the youthful rebel look merely sagged on her.

He turned to look at Quinn beside him, picking at her order of Chinese food. "Do you see that lady? The one with the horrible pink streaks? I know I shouldn't judge, but I can't help it, they're horrendous."

"Oh, I don't know," she laughed, "I might go pink sometime, who knows?"

"Please don't, oh, _please_ spare me."

"Who knows, I might have hit a stroke of aesthetic genius, right here in the mall of Lima Ohio! But the din here is so loud, I probably wouldn't have the sanity to think up such a thing."

"You mean you don't enjoy the musical stylings of Lil' Wayne?" he teased, referring to the music echoing in the background.

"Rap," Quinn groaned, stuffing a piece of Mandarin Chicken into her mouth. "I think I've endured enough of Schuester to exclude me from ever having to listen to it again."

"Do you ever people watch?" Blaine asked her suddenly as he watched a young boy walk by, clinging onto his father's hand tightly and looking up to ask him a question. He didn't realize there was an ache in his chest until he looked back to Quinn and a pitying look met him. "You know, just how there's so many different types of people? And we're usually closed off because we can afford to be other places, but being here and watching people…"

"For a while when I was younger I didn't want to look around me, because I felt like I wanted to melt into the crowd," she said, twisting a line of lo mein noodles around her fork, "but as I got older and held my head up higher it was easier to look people in the eye." Blaine could almost hear the shrug in her voice as she talked; how was she so nonchalant about it?

He asked her so.

"The world hasn't been so nice to me in the past, and I've kind of learned how to deal with it without wasting so many tears."

The silence was weighted, and then Quinn asked, "How have you guys been treated since the news of you and Kurt got out?"

"Nobody's really been harassing us," Blaine answered, a smile sneaking onto his face. "Maybe this could go smoothly, Quinn! Maybe this won't be as hard as we thought!"

Quinn smiled at him hesitantly. "Just remember, Blaine, you know how special the thing you and Kurt have is, don't let it go."

Blaine grinned in response. "Why is this version of Quinn I'm seeing so down today? You should remember, for yourself, that there's good things in your future too!"

"Ah, the young in love," she sighed, going back to eating her food. "So naïve."

"Love? _Love_? Quinn Fabray, what is this talk of love?"

"_Adorable_."

* * *

Kurt looked shaken when Blaine drove over to their house later in the day.

He began to make his way to Kurt's front door, but Kurt came out before he could make it there and told him to drive.

"Where to?"

There was a ghostly look in Kurt's eye that Blaine couldn't shake as he watched Kurt. "Anywhere."

"Are you okay?"

"Just drive, and all will be revealed, I promise." There was a weak attempt at a smile; Blaine wasn't convinced.

"I… alright." He slid back into the driver's seat and buckled himself in, glancing through his peripheral vision at Kurt as he drove. Kurt kept looking at him like he was something he couldn't bear to lose, like he was planning to lose him soon. It was the most terrifying thing he had seen in a while.

The ride was eerily silent, Blaine fiddling with the radio every now and then, adjusting volume or switching to stations that he knew were Kurt's favorites in a fruitless attempt to breathe some state of cheer back into the car, but Kurt refused to acknowledge it. Kurt didn't do anything more than look out the window until they pulled up.

"Blaine!" he suddenly exclaimed. "What are you thinking?"

It was like passion was pumped back into Kurt; what had Blaine done?

"What?"

"Is this your _house_?"

Oh. So that was what he'd done. "Yeah?"

"_God_. Blaine, I can't be here! Don't make things harder than they should be! I'm not allowed here, remember? How could you forget? No, oh please, drive anywhere else! Why are we here?"

Why had he driven back to his house? He knew Kurt wasn't allowed here, how could he have forgotten? It was just an instinctive thing, to drive here. He hated being here, he hated being inside those doors, between those walls, stifled so. Yet this is where he had chosen to go when Kurt said 'drive anywhere'. What was the wrong component here?

"…I don't know why, Kurt. I really don't know why we're here right now."

"Are your parents here right now?"

"Um, I'm not sure."

"Is this a very indirect way of saying that you want to have sex with me, because if so, this is horrible timing. _Horrible._"

Even in his very clouded, swirled mind, it immediately registered that Kurt hadn't said he _didn't _want to have sex with him.

Fuck.

"I… "he struggled to unblock his words. "Wait a second," a pause, looking directly at Kurt. "Why is this horrible timing?"

"No reason," Kurt immediately responded, tapping his hand on his jeans. "No reason."

"_Kurt_," Blaine tried again, softening his eyes, "please tell me."

"I… can't. God, I can't do this."

"Do what? Kurt?"

"I… I…"

"Do you want to go inside to discuss this?" he asked, reaching for Kurt's hand. Kurt cautiously let him take it, focusing his gaze on their intertwined fingers.

"Your parents would kill me," he mumbled to their unioned flesh. "Or they would kill you. This relationship is still relatively new; I wouldn't want it to end with such a bad fate."

"Screw my parents, Kurt, you're distressed and my car is not the place to discuss why."

"Are you sure?" he asked cautiously, still carefully training his gaze everywhere but Blaine.

"I'm proud of you, and I don't care if my parents aren't! I don't want to put up with it anymore!"

"I still want my boyfriend alive for future days to come," Kurt repeated quietly. "Don't do this for me."

"Why not?" Blaine asked angrily. "I want to do lots of things for you; I'm pretty sure that's why they call it a relationship!"

"I don't know…"

"I don't know? Kurt, talk to me! I'm willing to face my parents for you, and I don't want to argue that! You're not going to persuade me out of it!"

"But others could…"

Others could? Did he understand how that sounded? Kurt wasn't 'others', and that was exactly why Blaine liked him! He was so different and strong and beautiful, how could he not see that? "Do you not understand that I really like you? 'Others' have no bearing on that!"

"Not now, because they aren't doing anything yet. People here are homophobic, Blaine, they're not going to like us together. They're gonna try to pull us apart."

"I don't care about that!" With a lesser voice, he added, "And I thought you didn't either."

"Trust me, if there has been anything, other than my father, that I have held dear, it's been you." He was cautious as he tacked on, "And I'm not about to let you go that easily."

Kurt was smiling again, which fuelled Blaine again. "Then let's go in there and face my parents, okay?"

"No," Kurt said with an ever growing smile, "we're not doing that yet. But we will, Blaine, I promise we will!" Voice rising in pitch, he kept up an excited stream of words. "No, we're not gonna do that yet, but we can still do lots of other things! Blaine, we can still do this! I won't have to lose you! I'm not gonna lose you!"

"Why were you going to lose me in the first place? You were _never_ going to lose me!"

"I was never going to lose you?" Kurt asked him, fevered light glinting in his eye, smile almost manic in its happiness. "Never?"

"This all may be a bit rash, and we're only teenagers on the brink of something amazing, but it's true," he murmured. "Never. I consider you mine now, Kurt Hummel, whether you like it or not."

"Oh, I like it, trust me," he hummed, leaning in closer. Kurt's body heat etched through Blaine's skin, and he could feel the urge to pull him back, push him down on the back seat, let hands wander all over, mouths sloppily learn each other, and cocoon himself into Kurt's cool and scorching skin, both fire and ice splintering into his flesh as they combined.

But it was too soon for that, and they were too special for such a commonplace thing.

"Look, there was something I was supposed to tell you tonight," he whispered into Blaine's ear, dragging his hand along Blaine's arm. Did he know the effect he was having? Was he doing this on purpose? "But I nearly ruined us tonight, and we're in a good place again. I don't want to ruin it again. I'd rather celebrate…"

"Sure," Blaine whispered, but that was all he could get out before Kurt had leaned over and captured his lips, rendering him punch drunk and speechless.

* * *

_But I nearly ruined us tonight._

Those words had run through Blaine's head all night. At two in the morning, Blaine had texted Kurt, asking him when he wanted to talk. Kurt texted him back immediately, saying at first to call him, that he would explain it now, but later changed his mind, stating that they were both due to be overemotional and over reactive at two in the morning and he wanted to avoid the trouble. He said he'd tell him at the Lima Bean tomorrow morning. With a yawn, Blaine had called him anyways, Kurt picking up on the second ring.

"See you tomorrow," he breathed, cradling the phone to his ear . "Sweet dreams."

"Goodnight honey," Kurt whispered back. His voice got a little closer. "I hope I'll dream of you."

"I hope you will too." Kurt laughed; it sounded like the soft tinkering of a cymbal.

They mutually agreed to hang up on the count of three, and when three came Blaine sleepily pressed the red 'end call' symbol, and fell asleep to indeed dream of Kurt.

* * *

He woke up the next morning refreshed. Hearing Kurt's voice before he fell asleep had been calming, and he held onto the way his voice had curled around the edges as he spoke, his lips undoubtedly nearly pressing against his phone, almost like giving him a drowsy but meaningful goodnight kiss.

He didn't know if his parents had actually seen him and Kurt outside their house last night, but they didn't mention it, so he chose, naively but satisfyingly, to believe they hadn't.

He headed to the Lima Bean, preparing for the worst, but the cheery mood he was in setting him in expectation for the best. What he saw, however, was worse than anything he had been expecting.

Kurt was sitting at their table, staring at another guy Blaine didn't recognize in happy disbelief. The guy had emerald green eyes, high and styled chestnut hair, and a slender figure. He was smiling smugly at Kurt, then getting up to bring Kurt into a hug. Kurt obliged, and seemed to whisper "thank you" into his Warbler blazer as they hugged. Kurt jumped, the guy having had pinched him on his thigh as they pulled apart.

Blaine's rationale was telling him to confront Kurt about this. He was right there, it was only a few more steps, and then they could clear this and get back to working their way through a relationship. But Blaine was tired of listening to rationale, the pain in his chest was building, and he didn't have the courage to make those extra steps.

He hated running, but it seemed like, nowadays, that was all he ever did.


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Sebastian had pardoned his failure to carry out the deal.

Sebastian was letting them go scot-free.

Kurt couldn't believe it. He had expected Sebastian to give him another ultimatum, to run off and tell the world about Blaine, or to go tell Blaine himself. But he hadn't. After Kurt had told him he couldn't do it, he couldn't break up with Blaine, and that Sebastian could do whatever he wanted to them but they were stronger than him or whatever he was planning to throw at them, he just… capitulated. With a sleazy smile and a shrug, he had just said "Alright", called Kurt a "Crafty piece of shit" with an appreciative pat on the back, and then left.

There was more to it though, because Sebastian couldn't and wasn't giving up that easily, and Kurt was determined to find out what had made him so content as to give up the battle on Kurt's front. There had to be a reason.

* * *

Kurt was slushied at school. It wasn't as if this hadn't happened before, or as if it were a rare occurrence, but this slushie was different. Because it was the second of the day.

Kurt was slushied frequently, but he was never slushied more than once per day. He figured it was a bizarre outlier of human morality his tormentors possessed, the decency to limit a person's icy suffering to one dose per day. It was a twisted thing to find grace in, but find grace in it he did.

Until today, when a jock came up to him in between fifth and sixth period, slushie in hand, the usual taunting and artificial leering before deliverance of blow in effect. The only difference in the sad routine was that he had yelled "Hope your new prep school boy gives you AIDS fucker!" as he walked past, throwing a crude peace sign over his shoulder, and then meeting up with his group of friends further down the hallway, a group that included one who had slushied him earlier in the day.

* * *

Burt was, strangely enough, becoming more and more invested in Kurt and Blaine's relationship. It started out with little things, asking how his day had gone and smiling whenever Kurt mentioned Blaine, and progressed onto asking after Blaine and how he was doing a couple of times, and then it became suggesting that Blaine come over for dinner more, and eventually it digressed into Blaine and Burt watching football games on the couch as Kurt was either preparing dessert or desperately trying to signal to his dad that he'd like his boyfriend back.

Kurt went home that day, after talking to Sebastian, worried that Blaine hadn't come to the Lima Bean, but assigning his fears to mere paranoia. Everything was going to be absolutely fine, he kept reassuring himself. This had happened once before.

Raising his head as Kurt entered the house, Burt asked about how Blaine was.

"I'm not so sure at the moment," Kurt replied. "He didn't show up to the Lima Bean today, which you know is kind of our thing, and I'm beginning to get worried…"

"Have you called or texted him since this morning?" Burt asked practically, sitting up on the sofa.

"No, I actually haven't," Kurt said, fiddling with his phone. "School," he mumbled absentmindedly more to himself than Burt as he sent out a text to Blaine.

Burt smiled knowingly. "Think a little before you start freaking out, Kurt. I'm sure he's fine."

Kurt nodded idly.

_Kurt Hummel: Hey sweetie! Any particular reason you weren't at the Lima Bean today? Missed your presence this morning. _

The reply was almost immediate.

_Blaine Anderson: Could we talk? In person? I swear I'm not trying to create drama, just need to clear up a few things._

Kurt stared at the words for a few moments. They seemed almost… inauthentic, something he wasn't used to seeing in Blaine around him.

_Kurt Hummel: Sure thing! Come on over to my house. Although, by saying you're not trying to create drama, I'm becoming increasingly suspicious that you are! Haha jk. When should we meet up?_

_Blaine Anderson: As soon as possible if you don't mind. And haha, you know it! I'm covertly employed in a secret government organization and my mission is to make you trust me and then steal all your secrets. What could you know that would be of importance to the government? Can't tell you that. Classified information._

_Kurt Hummel: You're a huge dork. Remind me why I like you again?_

It took Blaine a few minutes to answer.

_Blaine Anderson: I've never been quite sure._

* * *

"Looks like Blaine's great disappearing act is up," Kurt heard Burt call out. He stepped out of his room, patting his dad gently on the shoulder.

"Thanks, dad," he said quietly. Burt went to return the gesture, put a hand on Kurt's shoulder, but as he turned to face him, he saw noiseless moisture in Kurt's eyes.

"You okay bud?"

"I'm okay, it's just," Kurt laughed mirthlessly, "relationships are harder than I imagined they would be."

"I…" Burt started, but soon surrendered the effort of words and just pulled Kurt into a tight hug.

Burt nodded as he pulled out, wordlessly telling Kurt, with eyes alight with pride and envy, _everything is going to be okay. The world cannot break a strong, handsome son like you. I'm proud of you, bud. Never forget that, okay?_

_I know, dad. _Kurt nodded in response. _I love you._

"Blaine's probably fixing to come inside," Burt said gruffly. "You should go open the door."

"Of course."

A familiar smile greeted Kurt as he let Blaine in. He knew he shouldn't be relieved because he recognized the same pure joy in Blaine upon seeing him that he felt when seeing Blaine, but the mutuality and the intimacy put him a little more at ease, and a little less afraid, for what was going to happen to their relationship next.

"Shall we head to my room?" Kurt asked nonchalantly, inwardly praying that Burt would not object.

Out of his peripheral vision he saw Burt stir, but, mercifully, he relaxed back into the couch.

"We shall," Blaine answered, beaming again.

Taking Blaine's hand, he pulled them into his room, and immediately fell down onto the white covers, taking Blaine with him. They laid side by side on his pristine bed, looking up at the speckled ceiling, finding patterns and images in the sorts of raised plaster.

"That cluster right there looks like Simba," Blaine pointed out, keeping his finger aloft but turning to look at Kurt.

"I disagree, I don't think it looks like a lion at all. I don't see anything there, really. Here," he pointed to a cluster on the opposite side of the ceiling, "is something though. It looks like a constellation transcribed right to the ceiling," he said, straining his neck further to look at it.

"It could be a Zodiac constellation," Blaine supplied, turning back to the ceiling. "Maybe Gemini since you were born in May."

"Yes," Kurt hummed quietly, training his gaze back to Blaine. "What are you thinking about?" he asked suddenly, unconcernedly.

"Us," Blaine answered, just as calmly. "How it feels when you kiss me, the way your arms tighten against me when we hug, the way you smell, the softness of your voice when you're thinking, the way your cheek is cold when I hold it, the way your eyes widen and seem to get clearer when you're surprised…"

Kurt didn't know how to react, so he just laid there, still.

"Is it hard for you to believe?" Blaine asked him in a whisper, shifting closer. "That I could think like that about you?"

"No one's ever paid that much attention to me," he answered slowly. "It's just hard to believe that someone would do so on purpose, and like what they see. I guess it's just sort of ingrained in me to believe I'm the worse of the options."

"I know more than one person who thinks you're gorgeous, Kurt."

Blaine said it so gently that he almost didn't catch the undercurrent of jealousy.

"Green's not a flattering color on you, Blaine."

"But it is on you, and this morning was evidence not only I enjoy that," he said quietly again.

Kurt propped himself up on his elbow. "This morning?"

"Look," Blaine began, not motioning to get up and still gazing unfocusedly at the ceiling, "I saw you and that other guy at the Lima Bean. "

"You did?"

"Who was he, Kurt?" Blaine shifted up and turned a gaze on him that was raw. "Are you hiding something from me?"

"N-no! You don't understand! He's-"

"Why are you so flustered?" Blaine asked, half suspicious.

Why was he acting like this? He had nothing to hide! "I, he just… His name is Sebastian."

"Sebastian?" Again, with a voice so gentle Kurt felt it would shatter if he made a wrong tread. "That's it?"

"He… he was trying to make a deal with me."

"A deal? Kurt, if he was trying to do anything to you, I can report him! He goes to Dalton!"

"He wasn't trying to do harm to _me,_" Kurt said reluctantly. "He didn't care about me."

"What was he trying to do then?"

"He was…" Kurt swallowed, "he was trying to get to you."

"Me," Blaine repeated in disbelief. "Me?"

"I was trying to protect you, Blaine. I swear, I was only trying to do the right thing. And I was trying to hide this from you, but I realize now that we don't hide things from each other. It's sort of the building block of our relationship."

Blaine smiled.

"Do you, do you remember that night in your car when you drove us to your parent's house?"

A nod.

"I looked deathly afraid of something?"

Another.

"Sebastian had given me an ultimatum," he said. "An ultimatum that was meant to injure you, not me. I was to break up with you," Blaine's intake of breath, "or let him… let him spread your secret."

"My… secret?" His eyes were so tender in their confusion. "I don't understand, I don't have a secret."

"I wish you didn't," Kurt murmured under his breath. "But unfortunately, honey, you do."

"If it's how I knew your name the first time we met, I swear I wasn't being a stalker, you just made a lasting impression on me!"

"How you knew my name?" Kurt asked amusedly, stifling a laugh. "How _did_ you know my name?"

"Oh, I thought you didn't notice," Blaine mumbled, looking down. "Never mind that then."

"Blaine," he admonished playfully, still withholding his childish smile and grateful for the brief comic relief. "Tell me!"

"I… my father brought me into the id-ing rooms in the hospital as a child once," he said, "and I remember watching the faces as he classified them. Unsightly, standard, comely. But there was this particular person up on the screens that had captured my attention. He had had the most striking blue eyes, and even my infantile mind could appreciate their beauty. They never let go of me, those eyes."

"I probably should've told you that my dad worked in the id-ing rooms," Blaine sighed. "He was also the one that made you an unsightly."

"You would've told me if it came up in conversation," he responded, not upset at all. "Your dad is kind of the root of this entire problem anyways, I wouldn't be too harsh on yourself."

"My dad? For not approving of us?"

"Do you know _why_ he doesn't approve of us?" Kurt asked stiffly. "It's not what you think."

"Because he's prejudiced and it's all really very thoughtless?"

"Partly," Kurt lowered his voice, "but not entirely."

"Why then?" Blaine asked just as quietly, the affected warning mood coming to him.

"Do you know of how he manipulated your classifications that day?" Kurt knew his eyes were aglow then, even though this was definitely not something he sought enjoyment in.

"No," Blaine answered. "but I have suspicions."

"Your suspicions are probably right," a misguided flare of enjoyment from gossiping in him combated the crushing feeling in his chest. "Were they that you aren't a comely?"

Blaine looked at Kurt, eyes sleek with ready to be born tears.

"You _are_ right," Kurt announced suddenly, not being able to bear drawing it out, instead issuing a definitive statement he couldn't take back. "You're like me, I guess."

The tears didn't fall like they should have. Kurt kept watching Blaine's eyes, but there was a hazy layer flicked over them to mask the true emotion Blaine was feeling. He just sort of… sat there for a few long seconds. A monochromatic emotional scheme.

Then everything burst into color.

"Kurt," Blaine kept muttering, over and over and over. "Kurt, Kurt, Kurt."

"Shh, Blaine, it's alright," Kurt whispered, moving to hold him, stroking his arm.

"I don't understand… my entire life he's been fighting with me about this… and I've actually been right this entire time? Every time I say I don't belong… I was right. I've been chaffing under this label I knew didn't fit me for so long and I've been right."

"Shhh, Blaine, it'll all be okay. Not much will change. Your dad doesn't know about it. It just sort of causes… an existential crisis."

"I'm not who I thought I was," Blaine added. "They're going to go beserk when they find out I'm not who they pulled strings for me to be."

Kurt pulled him into an all-out hug, squeezing him tightly.

"I can't believe they tried to control that," Blaine repeated numbly into Kurt's shoulder. "They essentially tried to control the environment in which I grew up to make me who they wanted me to be."

The words _I think I may love you_ were spry on Kurt's tongue, but he forced them down reluctantly. He didn't want to give Blaine even more emotional turmoil after what he'd just been through.

"You're the same to me," Kurt reassured him. "You're still my idiotic, persevering boyfriend."

Blaine seemed to know Kurt meant more than he said, so he just nodded and hugged Kurt tighter. They clung to each other, Kurt feeling like he knew Blaine more intimately than he ever had before, despite Blaine's very persona being deconstructed right in front of him. But it was a mutual act, a shared cleansing, and it almost felt like, once the storm had gone, they were going to be capable of building something much bigger between them.


	11. Chapter 10

_A/N: Here it is, the last chapter! There will also be an epilogue, which will mainly wrap things up from Kurt's POV. But for Blaine, this is where the story ends! I hope you enjoy. :)_

Chapter 10

"I'm going to a friend's house," Blaine called out to his parents as he picked up his car keys and headed for the door, struggling to keep the acridity out of his tone.

"Which friend, dear?" his mother called back from the couch.

"Her name's Quinn Fabray." He was waiting for the reaction of his father, who was sitting in another room.

He sighed. "A comely," he added.

Still no reaction from the other room, but his mother nodded a quick assent and he made his escape.

After the finding of his true identity, it had been hard to keep the newfound knowledge under wraps. That mainly meaning, maintaining the falsely polite charade with his parents. He knew they probably had the best intentions in mind, but the "prejudice precepts" were largely a cementation of what had already occurred within society, and they hadn't disrupted much, except maybe the self esteem of the public at large. There was no reason to have to make that change for him, make him into something he wasn't. It was a fruitless move; it only served to make him all the more rebellious inside, even while his nature made him a soft hearted person in general. He didn't want to have been given it all, he wanted to _earn_ it. He wanted to deserve it.

The other thing Blaine had done after talking to Kurt, other than a lot of thinking and self-evaluation, was call Quinn. They had been texting back and forth since they met, but Blaine had never called her before. When he called, Quinn answered with a sort of alarm.

"Blaine, are you alright?" she had asked worryingly.

"I could be doing better," he had answered. But Quinn heard the soft pain in his voice, and she offered to meet up then. Blaine ultimately refused, however, wanting to think it through for himself first before talking about it. Quinn then asked if the next day was alright, and Blaine agreed.

Quinn's parents answered the door, and they were nice, but nicety did not determine a character. From experience, Blaine could sense that there was discord beneath their exhibitions, and when Quinn came down the stairs and smiled he smiled back like he knew and related, and Quinn looked like she knew then what he related to.

"I'll take him away from you now, guys," she interjected into her parents' conversation with Blaine. Blaine smiled graciously, and left with Quinn to talk in her room.

"Blaine," Quinn implored as soon as they got upstairs. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I'm not a comely," Blaine spat out all at once, letting the words tumble out, letting them hit the tender pastels of Quinn's walls and hoping they'd find calumny there amongst the truer, softer hues.

Quinn paused for a few moments. "Hold on, repeat that again, I don't think I heard right."

"I'm not a comely," Blaine repeated, calmly this time.

"How do you know?"

"Long story short, my dad, since he works in the id rooms, wielded his power for me and made me a comely when I shouldn't have been. And I know it doesn't make much matter now, and no one knows except me and Kurt, but it's still a big thing, you know?"

She sat still for a few moments.

"Let me tell you a story," she began, a calculated edge to her voice. "Long before I became the Quinn Fabray you know now, I was someone else. Someone a lot less graceful and less 'beautiful' than I am now."

She paused. "My name was Lucy Q. Fabray."

"Lucy's a pretty name," Blaine hummed quietly.

"Yes, it was," she agreed, an introspective tone to her voice, "but everything else about me was the exact opposite. I was chubby, friendless, and the biggest sort of loser you could meet. I couldn't join a sport because I hopeless at all of them, I had glasses and braces…"

"…But then I changed myself. I'm not proud of it, but I did. I got a nose job, I got into shape. Keep in mind, they had classified me as a comely from birth, so there was obviously potential underneath it all. I was sort of a disappointment to my parents before. Maybe it was a pressure to live up to what I'd been told I was, or maybe it was internal pressure to be a 'better person'. So now I'm here: cheerleader, beauty queen, blond and perfect. But I'm no different than I was before, I'm not a different person despite how I tried to be."

"So what I'm trying to tell you, Blaine," Quinn said, snapping back to reality and facing him, "is that what or who people tell you you're supposed to be doesn't matter. There's always that fundamental _you _inside of you, and no one can change that, alright? No matter if you're an unsightly or a comely or anything in between."

"Thanks Quinn," Blaine said sincerely, going to hug her. "That really helped."

"You still gonna change the world?" she asked, smiling broadly.

"I never break my promises," he responded, a big smile to match.

* * *

After talking to Quinn, Blaine's attitude about resolving this issue became determinedly regimented. He was going to find Sebastian at Dalton and talk to him, then he was going to confront his parents about it. That was the way it was going to go. No turning back.

Sebastian was easier to find than he imagined, a little to his detriment. He made himself a large presence in the hallways, and plenty of people knew about him. Asking around, Blaine had learned he was a new student to Dalton with a nasty attitude and an arrogance about him. Seeing him talk in the hallways, the way he drew himself up, the way he clearly enunciated every word he said, made those personality qualities evident.

Squaring his shoulders and cursing his disadvantageous height, he walked up to Sebastian.

"Are you Sebastian?" he asked cordially.

"Why yes I am, and you must be the famous, or should I say infamous, Blaine Anderson! You're legend."

Blaine simply waved off the compliments.

"Listen, could I talk to you in private for a minute?"

"Sure thing, buddy. Anything for the pride of Dalton Academy."

They walked to a more isolated space.

"Sebastian, what are you trying to do getting to Kurt?"

"Oh, well now, I guess the cat's out of the bag," he grinned garishly. "Frankly, Blaine, I don't care about Kurt. I care about _you_." His last sentence sounded oddly sincere for what he was saying.

"You were blackmailing Kurt to get to me?" Feigned innocence.

"Oh boy, you're just as oblivious as they say. Yes, I was. And I assume it worked, since you're here now."

"What did you tell him to do?" Blaine asked.

"Simple, to break up with you, and that you'd come running to me. And it worked. Like I told him, I _always_ get what I want."

"And you thought that doing all that would win over me?" he asked skeptically, a note of innocence still hanging on him. "And that telling me about it would endear you to me even more?"

Sebastian seemed hung up. "I… what would you suggest I do instead? Win you over with kindness?" He scoffed. "Naïve and childish. You don't get what you want by playing the nice guy."

"Oh, but you do," Blaine countered, "Or maybe you would have had a chance if you had tried. But I'm with Kurt now, and there is no immediate chance that I will be with you, alright? Please leave Kurt and I alone, Sebastian."

"Oh," Sebastian almost snarled, "you think I'll give up because you reject me? You don't know what you want, Blaine, and I intend to show you what it is you do."

"No," Blaine opposed, "You won't, because I've had people telling me that my entire life, and I've taken it. But not now. You are_ not_ going to tell me who I like or what to do with my life. You're _not_ going to tell me who or what I should identify with. I know all about the secret you're threatening to spread about me! And honestly, I don't care. Spread it if you'd like. But know if you do, you're only spreading it with a vengeance that you will never be able to fully satisfy, and soon it'll spiral out of control. So do what you wish, Sebastian, but I'm done here. Goodbye."

Grinning childishly to himself about the feat he just accomplished, Blaine walked away, leaving a stunned Sebastian in his wake.

* * *

The outside air was muggy with the threat of rain and their park currently unpopulated, except for a few singing winged birds flitting about against nature's intent and a mutual future hanging in the clouds.

"Be with me when I confront my parents," Blaine pleaded with Kurt, swinging his legs idly as he talked.

"You know I want to, but I can't be there inside your house, it'll only upset them even more and make everything about this harder."

"Stop being logical, Kurt," the metal playground contraption they were sitting on creaking slightly as Blaine talked. He moved closer, squeezing Kurt's hand and pleading with proximity for him to turn his head and allow him to press in for a kiss. "I don't want to be logical about this. I just want to get it over with."

"Is this not illogical enough for you?" Kurt asked. "We're sitting on top of this filthy metal thing, fully aware that it's about to rain, designing the plan of attack for your death sentence. One that, I may add, is also unnecessary, given that your parents don't need to know and it's been a few days since you confronted Sebastian and he hasn't said one thing."

"One that I need to make," Blaine corrected. "I need to own who I am, Kurt. This is the first step of many."

"I'm proud of you Blaine, I just… I wish this didn't need to happen."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Kurt paused, releasing Blaine's hand briefly and gently sliding off. "I want you to know that you don't need labels." He offered his hand up to Blaine, who took it. Kurt led them off the mulched playground to the soft, if not faintly dying, grass around it. With a quick whimsical look, he pulled Blaine down into it along with himself. They landed giggling, cheeks flushed in the vague heat and boyish immaturity of being on the verge of something brilliantly new. Lying beside Kurt, waiting for the rain to fall, Blaine felt like he could do anything.

"I mean," Kurt repeated, slowly inching closer to Blaine until he was almost on top of him. "Labels are," deliberate pauses between each word, "really. fucking. convenient." Torso on Blaine's chest, legs stretched back to the place he had occupied moments ago, Kurt continued. "And people take advantage of how convenient they are way too often."

Blaine grinned sheepishly, feeling a heat spread throughout his body that had nothing to do with the atmosphere's own sluggish existence.

"I just really," Kurt continued, a soft peck on the lips, "really," another, slower, deeper kiss, "_really_ want you to know that."

"Could you repeat that?" Blaine asked breathlessly, hopelessly uprooting a few blades of grass beneath him. "I don't think I got it fully the first time."

Kurt smiled. "Honey, you're really fucking fantastic, okay? No one should be able to tell you otherwise." He fumbled for Blaine's hand, never breaking eye contact." Society? Your parents? Your peers? They don't matter. More than that, _you_ matter. You're whoever you want to be, not who they say you are."

"Who do _you_ say I am?" Blaine asked lowly as Kurt shifted all the way on top of him, stroking his cheek sweetly but with eyes soft with longing.

"Why, I say you're Blaine Anderson," Kurt answered brightly as the beginnings of raindrops began to fall on them. He kissed Blaine again, Blaine squeezing his eyes shut tightly, hoping to somehow preserve this moment in his mind. All the fear, hope, and lust mingling in a muddy mind with a fresh sense of expectation. "And you don't need to be anything else but that."

They broke off talking just then, opting instead to continue their more pressing pursuits, tongues at first hesitant and then urgent as beads of moisture started tapping on them like a heavy staccato, timing them as they rolled around and broke apart for milliseconds to catch a weighted breath before colliding together once again, playing a drumbeat that sounded like dying and living all at once.

"I want to say 'I love you', but I know it's too soon," Blaine said, breaking away from Kurt, who pouted childishly.

"I've been thinking the same thing," Kurt replied, slightly drawing himself up, face completely serious. There was room to tack on more, but Kurt simply kept silent, beaming at Blaine.

Blaine strained up a little, and Kurt obliged by granting him a kiss. "There you go. We've almost said our 'I love yous' and we've only been at this for a few weeks."

Kurt smiled coyly, pulling Blaine up. They both stood reluctantly, awkwardly smoothing out their clothes and avoiding eye contact for a few seconds. Once they did make contact, though, they giggled. "Let's get out of this rain." Kurt said between laughs. "I believe you've got some important self-seeking to do."

* * *

Kurt had agreed, albeit grudgingly, to be there with Blaine. Still worried about his parents, however, he insisted that he hide somewhere while it happened. Blaine had laughed and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "As long as you're there I'll be fine," he'd replied.

Hiding behind a grand old clock, Kurt winked and gave him a thumbs up. Just as he did that, his father walked into the room.

"Oh, Blaine. Hello son."

"Dad," Blaine said, fighting to keep his voice steady. "I have something to tell you."

Instead of saying it outright, Blaine deflected. "Koinophilia," he said, standing up taller. "Averageness. It's what people find most attractive."

His dad nodded nonchalantly, affecting a bored expression as he sat at the dining room table.

_Don't act so alienated and uncaring around me_, Blaine shouted at his father internally. _You're the reason behind all of this!_

He went on about the different standards he used to classify people as they were born, railing against the inherent unfairness of it all, rallying for those who never have a chance in it all, but his father wouldn't listen.

"It is right and always has been," he said sternly. "You're a comely. You're always going to be a comely. And you're going to like it."

With a determined click of his shoes, his father exited the room. Once Blaine thought he was a safe distance away, he crumpled to the floor, feeling like a paper weight as he crashed.

He didn't look up, but he felt the cozy warmth of Kurt's breath by his ear as he whispered, "It's okay, baby, Shhh, it's okay. We'll make it through this."

"No it won't, Kurt," he exclaimed, exasperated, fully aware of how absurdly dramatic he was being. "_No it won't_! I can't do this. I've played along with him this entire time. He can't know."

He didn't know why it hurt so much, why the pain was congealing in his veins and making him feel like he was about to burst, but it was welling fast. This was absolutely ridiculous; it was really nothing! He had told his parents before in one of their arguments that his being anything other than a comely would have no immediate effect on any of them, because it wasn't news they were required to share with the world. It could be kept secret quite easily. In fact, he was sure that if it came out they wouldn't dare spread it. All threat of it being exposed to the public was eliminated when Sebastian seemed to vow to silence. Why then, was this so important to him? Why did this garner so much merit as to allow himself to beat himself over the head with it, with the incessantly recurring question it brought up: _who am I? who am I? who do I mean to be?_

That issue of self-identity felt like it would tear him, and his family, apart, if it wasn't resolved soon.

_Who am I?_

He heard himself ranting, but he wasn't quite sure what he was saying.

_Who am I?_

He heard Kurt's reassurances, soft lips and gentle words and melodies of beauty in the tragedy he made in his head.

_Who can I be?_

And then he heard something unprecedented, heavy footfalls that did not match his mother's. Through his tear blurred vision he saw a tall figure, standing awkwardly on the other side of the room. Looking up confirmed it was his father, an expression of cold sincerity thawing through frostbitten reason.

"…Kurt? Kurt's in our house?" he asked, stilted in speech.

Blaine merely nodded. "I'd say I'm sorry but I'm not," he said, automatically straightening. "We're in a relationship, and a quite solid one if I could say so myself, and you need to acknowledge that."

"Son…" his father trailed off, looking about the room. "I…"

"Are you going to say you're angry, because be angry all you want, I don't care anymore."

"You don't care?" he asked, a bit of brokenness seeping into his voice.

"No, I don't. Do you know what I was trying to tell you before you walked out?"

His father shook his head no.

"I'm not a comely," he stated firmly. "And that's not because of any pretended negative influence from Kurt or anything of my choice. I know you know it too. That's why you didn't want me with Kurt. So that I couldn't discover who I truly was."

Blaine's father stayed silent, but reached out as if to offer an olive branch. Kurt stood stoutly by Blaine, glaring him down.

"I don't even care about how people think of me, how I'm aesthetically seen. I don't care about that! I do care about the stigmas it brings on though, and how it identifies me as a person."

"Blaine," his father started.

"No, let me finish for _this once_," he established, exasperated. Kurt squeezed his shoulder beside him.

His father weakly nodded consent.

"I don't know why you tried to make me into something else when you classified me. To help me in life, I suppose, and I understand that motive, but do you understand how I've struggled to find peace with who I am? I know it sounds like a horrid melodramatic work of a teenager's brain, but you changing those classifications that day was an act of you controlling me. Not letting me bring Kurt here or refusing to acknowledge his existence is another act of your trying to control me." Blaine paused, stealing a look at Kurt, who nodded vigorously. "_I am not someone to be controlled._ I can live my own life, with my own identity, and I won't let you rob me of that! That's one of the many things Kurt has allowed me to learn by being with him, the fact that I can stand up for myself, and frankly _be myself_, as I choose. The rest of this issue is merely a play with words; it has no immediate effect." In a softer voice he added, "I just want you to recognize that I'm my own worthy person."

His father was nodding softly, wiping his eyes reluctantly against the quelling moisture. He extended his arms again, inviting Blaine into his arms in such a foreign paternal manner that Blaine started tearing up as well, running into them like the little boy he was and the adult he proved himself to be.

"Thanks, dad," he whispered into his shirt. A few beats of warm silence. "Thanks."

"Well," his dad cleared his throat after a few moments, his voice still a little hoarse with emotion. "We must not keep your boyfriend in that awkward position for too long. Would you like to stay for dinner, Kurt?"

Kurt smiled benevolently, glancing at Blaine with such dancing joy in his eyes that it was as if he could feel the joy rumbling through Blaine's body. "I would love to, sir. Thank you very much."


	12. Epilogue

_A/N: Here's the epilogue! I hope you enjoy and thank you to everyone who stayed with me on this story's journey._

Epilogue

"Tell me _everything,_" Rachel enthused, squeezing Kurt's arm alarmingly tight. Both of them were in their pajamas, gossiping loudly in Kurt's room. "I have to know every little detail."

Kurt shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth. "There's not much to tell," he said. "Blaine confronted his father, and they had a beautiful moment of making up. I was there to watch the family magic happen."

"Facial expressions? Tones of voice? Body language? You've got to give me something here, Kurt! Did you observe for any potential acting tips?"

"_Rachel_," he reprimanded gently.

"Alright, fine, no acting tips, I see." She grunted amiably, turning away from Kurt for a few moments before turning back. "So that's it? You guys get your happily ever after now?"

"Our relationship is still relatively new," Kurt said tentatively, "but it feels like we've been in love for a while. It feels like… ever since I met him, it feels like we've always been a 'together' unit, you know? I have never felt more comfortable using the term 'we' in my life."

"Love?" Rachel teased, poking Kurt. She traced a heart in the air. "Is my best friend Kurt Hummel in _loooove_?"

"Maybe not yet," Kurt said, a shocking red rushing up to his pale cheeks, "but as close as I can be."

Rachel giggled and tackled Kurt into a hug. "Oh, Kurt, I'm so happy for you! You finally believe in love!"

"I must owe you something, I can't begin to count the amount of times I've scorned love because I never thought I'd get it."

"The only thing you owe me is your continued happiness," Rachel related to him, elated. "I love seeing you happy."

"Thank you," he said, pulling her into another hug. "He did say one thing, Blaine did, that stands out though."

Rachel looked up, curious.

"He said, 'That's one of the many things Kurt has allowed me to learn by being with him, the fact that I can stand up for myself, and frankly _be myself_, as I choose.' He thinks I taught him something of the value of self-worth, Rachel! He credits me for helping him throw off the reins of what others wanted him to be!"

"Of course he does!" Rachel exclaimed immediately. "Why wouldn't he?"

"Well, I just don't feel like I did anything particularly special for him to deserve that type of credit."

"Nonsense," she immediately countered, "you didn't need to do anything special. All you had to do was be yourself. You realize that you, by refusing to let how you were labeled and how others thought of you hinder you, helped him do the same? How you enduring the bullying that came on because you were an unsightly and you were openly yourself, in a homophobic town, inspired him? He thinks you're beautiful, Kurt, and not just in the shallow sense of the word."

"Beautiful?" Kurt repeated, slightly surprised. "It's still so weird when people use that word in relation to me. I never thought it could be done."

"But it can and it _is!_ You guys helped each other find the beauty that lay beneath the superficial surfaces of what you've been given…. You've found true beauty in each other, and with it, as you say, a very real chance at love."

"Yes, we have," Kurt mused, trailing off. "Hey Rachel," he started suddenly, "do you remember the nursery rhyme that begins with 'sing a song of sixpence'?"

She nodded.

"How does it end? The lyrics?"

"Oh, I remember this," Rachel said, assuming the voice she did when she talked of serious musical theatre matters, "it goes:

_They sent for the king's doctor,_

_who sewed it on again;_

_He sewed it on so neatly,_

_the seam was never seen_."

Kurt couldn't help smiling hugely to himself, a dazzling smile that was sure to be questioned. "I… Thanks, Rachel."

"Why are you smiling?" Rachel asked suspiciously, narrowing her eyes.

"Oh, no reason," Kurt replied sunnily, and couldn't help but pat Rachel on the knee complacently. "Absolutely no reason at all. I just really like that nursery rhyme. But forgive me, let's talk about more urgent things. What are you planning to do for this week's assignment in Glee Club?"

Rachel lit up, and began gushing forth about the extensive library research she did to secure a song of appropriate stature and range as to best showcase her voice, as they were nearing competition time, and she wanted to ensure that she would snag the solo and impress any future college scouts that might be in attendance. Kurt encouraged her and supplemented her with other choices, and generally let himself get lost in the lilt of the conversation. However, he couldn't get the thought of Blaine from his mind, much like the night of the first time he had met him. Back then he had thought this could bring nothing but undesired heartache and another fruitless longing, maybe accompanied by additional bullying if he made his feelings known. But he was delightfully proven wrong. It was still true that they were going to be looked down upon my the town, that Kurt was still miserably looked down upon by everyone else or even ignored for being himself, that their relationship wasn't going to be easy in any sense of the word, but Kurt was beginning to neglect those negativities for the excessively more positive effects of what had happened between them. Suddenly all of those things didn't matter to him anymore. He finally felt as if he found a place to unload himself, every last bit, comfortably and lovingly.

_Yup_, he thought amusingly. _Never getting sick of this feeling._


End file.
